


Raising Harry

by Relevant_Peach



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, Ginny Weasley Bashing, M/M, Mental Health Issues, No Sex, Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder, Potions Accident
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-13
Updated: 2020-04-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:01:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 41,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23124415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Relevant_Peach/pseuds/Relevant_Peach
Summary: Draco Malfoy's post-war life is ordered, and safe, just as he needs it to be.  When a potions incident results in a houseguest, the order is soon disrupted, and Draco finds that he needs to face a number of things he's been trying to ignore, including his unresolved feelings about Harry Potter.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 151
Kudos: 766





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi frens! I've been struggling to get through Possession, so I wrote a little brain-candy, leaning on so many tropes that it pretty much wrote itself. Nevertheless, I'm sort of fond of how it all turned out, and I hope you enjoy it. This one's been fully written, so I'll post a new chapter every couple of days.
> 
> As a note, this story has Draco living with Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. I don't personally have any experience with this condition, and so although I've done my research and tried to be careful, I might not have gotten it right. I hope not to offend or overly-simplify the disorder, but ultimately, in order to get my characters where I needed them to be, I may have. I'm always happy to receive concrit, especially if someone actually has lived experience with OCD, and wishes to help me with the realities of someone in his position.
> 
> Thanks for reading!

At 5:55 am exactly, Draco’s wand buzzed. He silenced it, and lay, perfectly still, waiting the requisite one minute before he was allowed to get up. Counting the sixty seconds off in his head, he heard Lara’s voice there too, gentle and encouraging, “And, Draco, I’m curious about what would happen if you _didn’t_ count the sixty seconds. Do you think you could challenge yourself to simply wait for about as long as a minute or two _without_ checking the time?” Draco wanted to challenge himself, but his mind was caught in the familiar, comforting cadence of the count, and when he hit sixty, his feet were on the floor whether he had bid them there or not. Lara’s voice reassured him, “Recognizing the pattern is nearly as good as breaking it. It’s all progress, Draco, even if it isn’t linear.” Annoyed with himself anyway, he stomped to the bathroom, repeating Lara’s words back to himself with different inflections, making them sound as ridiculous as possible.

It didn’t take long for Draco to shower, dress, and brew a strong espresso, which he carried with him to the sunny room where his yoga mat had pride of place. He sat crosslegged on the mat, and was about to set his wand to count down the ten minutes, when he stopped. Feeling a little shaky, he set his wand down, and started to breathe. He was midway through his twentieth exhalation, when the anxiety became too much. Opening his eyes, he set his wand for nine minutes, twenty seconds, and resumed his practice. When the wand buzzed again, he summoned his journal, and noted the occurrence. It wasn’t success, but it was an attempt, and it would give him something to discuss with Lara on Wednesday anyway.

Eight o’clock found Draco in his lab, pot of tea set with a warming charm, and some classical music from WWN2 gently playing in the background. He cast a scouring charm on his worktable and lifted his quill, his diary open to today’s page before stifling a groan. It was innoculation day, which meant that, in merely four hours, his sanctum would be invaded by Aurors. He’d spelled the appointments into his diary from the parchment that the Ministry had sent over last week, and he scanned the names. Pritchard, Jones, Richmond, Weasley, and Potter. He allowed himself the luxury of three breaths, then repeated Lara’s words to himself, “The threats are manufactured, and my caution is an asset.”

Sighing, Draco calculated that he’d be able to complete the Imperius vaccination as well as a blood-thickening potion both before the Auror parade began. Just to be safe, though, ( _safe_ , his mind echoed), he cast a set of extra wards on his lab, his floo, the chair that the Aurors would use. Straightening his shoulders, he got to work. When his floo chimed with the first Auror, Draco was just finishing the cleaning process from the blood-thickening potion. He waved his wand, opening the floo, and said, “Good afternoon, Auror Pritchard, please use some of the hand-sanitizing potion and have a seat in the chair. I’ll be with you in a moment.” He hadn’t completed the cleaning spell exactly correctly, so he did it again. And once more, to be sure.

He summoned a vial of the innoculation, and a sanitizing wipe before donning a set of Muggle rubber gloves and approaching the chair. Auror Pritchard was sitting comfortably, looking around his lab with interest. “Mister Malfoy, you have an incredible setup here.” She was an older witch, around fifty-five, Draco guessed, and she’d been one of Draco’s biggest combatants when he’d first started consulting to the Aurors. She was Muggleborn, Draco knew, and had lost a family member during the war. Old wounds remained deep in the years following, and she’d been vocal in her disapproval of an ex-Death Eater interacting with the Aurors. Still, Draco had been one of only four Potions Master in Europe, and the remaining Death Eaters that were still at large after the war had access to Snape’s formulas. They’d needed a great deal of help in counteracting the potions during their many attempts to round up all the remaining baddies, and, after Draco had been able to cure the effects of a bone-liquifying potion that had been threatening her partner, she’d quickly changed her tune. Since then, she’d been collegial, but Draco remembered everything she’d said before.

Still. Draco knew that he was one of the few consultants that was allowed to work exclusively from his home, and he’d been working so hard, since the war to be the bigger person, to offset what he and his family had done, he swallowed any sarcasm, and simply said, “Thank you.” His hands were on the arm of the chair. Tap, tap, tap.

“It’s wonderful that you’ve been able to develop this potion. To think, you’ve managed to eliminate one of the Unforgiveables!”

“Well, not eliminate,” he said, ill-at-ease, “but this does help you to resist it. I’m glad that it does.”

“Mister Malfoy, I wanted to apologize to you. For…well…I wasn’t very kind to you when you first started working with the DMLE. And I regret that.”

“Yes,” Draco said, hoping that something enormous would fall on the house and kill him dead so that he wouldn’t have this conversation. “Well.”

“Anyways,” Auror Pritchard said, “I just wanted you to know. Am I finished?”

“Yes,” Draco said weakly. “And, thank you?” He didn’t mean for it to come out like a question, but he wasn’t sure how to take back the way his inflection rose, and so, with some additional awkwardness, Pritchard bundled herself off through the floo, and Draco busied himself with cleaning all the surfaces she’d touched. The next several Aurors came and went without any declarations of shame at their earlier treatment, and Draco had nearly begun to hope that his day would pass without any further awkwardness.

Then the floo chimed again, and Weasley stepped out, followed by Potter, who stumbled over the hearth and just barely missed cracking his head on the marble counter. “Malfoy,” he said, attempting to sound professional, his face going red.

“Potter, Weasley,” Draco replied. He directed Weasley to the chair, and began to prepare to administer the vaccination onto Weasley’s freckled neck when he caught a flash of crimson robes out of the corner of his eye. “Don’t touch that,” he said sharply, and Potter yanked his hand back so quickly that he stumbled backward into a rack of vials that were cooling. The rack fell to the ground with an almighty clatter, and a series of brightly coloured vials hit the floor. Most of them had already been spelled unbreakable, but the blood thickening potion, which was still cooling, and an earlier batch of inflammation reducer that had to cure under the a full moon, hadn’t. Draco watched, his thoughts detached, as the vials shattered, and the potion spattered all over Potter.

“Oh,” Draco said sadly, thinking about the time he’d invested in the inflammation reducer, and the amount of cleaning that would be required to set his lab to rights. He spared a moment to consider berating Potter for his clumsiness, but, immediately rejecting the notion as not worth it, took a step towards the mess, and summoned his wand from its wrist holster. 

“Malfoy, I’m so sorry,” Potter gasped helplessly, as potion dripped down the front of his robes.

“It’s fine,” Draco replied curtly. “You should remove your outer robes. Did any of the potion touch your skin?”

“I’m not sure,” Potter said, shrugging off the robes, and looking down. His legs were liberally coated.

“Come,” Draco said. “I have a decontamination shower. You’ll need to get the remnants washed off right away. I have a spare set of clothing you can have.”

“Is it dangerous?” Weasley asked, the first thing he’d said since arriving. “What’s on Harry, anyway?” 

“I’m sure it’s fine,” Potter said. “I’m sorry to be a bother.”

“It should be no problem, but I’ve never tested the combination of these two potions. They’re both harmless on their own, but one can never be sure how one potion will interact with another.”

He shooed Potter into the decontamination shower, adding another thing on his growing list of things that would need to be completely sanitized, and climbed the stairs to his quarters to find something for Potter to put on. Potter had filled out in the four years since the war ended, and Draco had remained weedy, so the best he could do was a fairly ragged pair of jogging pants and a threadbare Kestrals t-shirt. Draco had kept them after Paul had moved out a year ago, when he’d gotten tired of Draco’s shit, and could no longer put up with him. He sometimes took them out to look at them, to remember a time when he was different, but he never wore them. Draco tried, and failed, to picture the exact lines of Paul’s face. He’d been tall, broad, Draco remembered, and had crinkles at the edges of his eyes when he’d smiled, but Draco couldn’t remember the plane of his jaw, no matter how hard he tried. It was disconcerting, Draco realized, and told himself that he’d put it in his journal to tell Lara. His hands on the wardrobe. Tap, tap, tap. His thoughts were interrupted, however, by Weasley’s voice screaming, “Malfoy,” in a tone of such panic that Draco fled back down to his lab with considerable speed.

“What is it?” His voice was sharp, but in his defence, his heart was pounding, and he’d whacked his elbow, hard, against the doorframe as he’d flown around the corner.

“What is it?” Weasley’s voice was, if possible, even more panic-stricken, and he was pointing a shaky finger at the floor of the shower room, where, sitting, bemused, on a fluffy towel was a baby.

“Oh,” Draco said in surprise. “Where did that come from?”

“It’s Harry, you dumb fuck!”

“Is it really?” Draco asked, his brain short-circuiting as he tried to connect the plump infant with the strapping Auror who had just destroyed his lab.

“Fix him!” Weasley demanded.

“Fix him? I didn’t do this,” Draco protested.

“It’s obviously whatever fell on him. What are you up to, Malfoy?”

Draco felt a long-forgotten sense of indignation at being unjustly accused. “I’m not up to anything, Weasley. If you recall, _Potter_ was the one who tried to smash my lab to bits. Like usual, I’m going to get blamed for something that _he_ did.”

“You won’t get blamed if you fix him,” Weasley said lowly.

“How in Merlin’s name am I to fix him?”

“They’re your potions, Malfoy. Surely you have an antidote.”

“I don’t even know where to begin. Those two potions couldn’t possibly have de-aged him in this way. He needs to go to St. Mungo’s, Weasley. They’ll sort him out. I’m happy to provide my formulas, and any potion residue that remains.”

“We can’t take him to St. Mungo’s.” The mulish set to Weasley’s jaw was beginning to set Draco’s nerves on edge.

“Why not?”

“I just can’t.”

“Well, I’m not dealing with this, Weasley. Good luck. Don’t forget to pick him up some nappies on your way to Mungo’s, lest he wee all over you.”

“Ugh, Malfoy, can’t you possibly avoid being a prick for even just a minute? And you,” Weasley rounded on the baby, “why do you _always_ get me dragged into these situations? I just want a quiet life!”

“You picked a terrible best friend for that,” Draco remarked. He was feeling more like himself than he had in years. Who knew that it took the return of two-thirds of the Golden Trio to keep his mind off his problems.

“Tell me about it,” Weasley moaned.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Turns out that this is a tiny little chapter, so I'm posting two today, that way you won't feel cheated. Happy Sunday and thanks for reading.

“Listen, Malfoy, I can’t believe I’m going to tell you this. You have to swear to keep mum about it, though.” Ron was alternating between glaring at the baby, and avoiding looking at Draco, much to Draco’s amusement.

“Tell me what?”

“No, you have to swear, first.”

“Why would I do that? If it’s something bad, who do you think they’ll blame? I don’t want anything to do with this.”

“Listen, you git, Harry spoke up for you during your trials. He kept your mum out of Azkaban, and he’s the one who insisted that you be taken on as potions consultant to the Aurors. He never asked you for a single thing in return. He saved your life, Malfoy, and this will wipe the Life-Debt clean.”

Draco appeared to think this over. He knew it was all true, and hadn’t truly considered saying no, despite his protests. He knew exactly what he owed Potter. “Fine,” he sighed. “I’ll keep whatever sordid secrets the Chosen One is hiding.”

“Harry’s addicted to some sort of potion.”

“What? How? How is he keeping that a secret?”

“I’ve been covering for him for a while now. He’s my best mate, and Ginny’s boyfriend, and…he just doesn’t need this being dragged through the tabloids like everything else. He deserves some privacy.”

“But he could do himself a danger! Weasley, you can’t play around with these sorts of things. What potions is he on?”

Weasley looked frustrated. “I don’t know! He’s so good at covering his tracks. I’ve suspected him for a while, but I think the last time he was in St Mungo’s with an injury, something they gave him reacted with whatever he’s been taking. He’s gotten really weird.”

“Weird how?”

“He forgets stuff, like way more than usual. And sometimes, I see him looking around all confused, like he can’t remember how he got where he was. And sometimes the way he looks at Gin, like he doesn’t even know who she is.”

“But you’ve never seen him actually take anything? You’ve never found a vial, or an envelope full of powder?”

“No, nothing. I got worried enough to search his flat the last time he was away on a mission, and there was absolutely nothing. It’s the strangest thing, Malfoy. When he came back, he was different, back to his old self, but he came for dinner at Mum and Dad’s that night, and somehow, by the next day, he was all confused again.”

“But,” Draco said weakly, “without knowing what he’s taking, it’s going to be incredibly difficult to figure out how he ended up a baby. I’d really feel better if-”

“Malfoy, please. I know that you and I aren’t friends, and I know that you hate Harry, but he doesn’t deserve this. It’s going to ruin him if this hits the press. He…he’s tried so hard, since Voldemort and everything, to be okay. He deserves a shot. If you can make him grow up again, I’ll make sure he gets clean, I promise.” Weasley cast a worried look at the baby, who was still sitting on the floor, placidly examining his hands. “You got a shot, afterwards, right? Harry helped you get a chance to change things.” Draco opened his mouth to say something, but Weasley continued, “Don’t get me wrong, Malfoy, you deserved a shot, and you’ve done really well for yourself. You proved everybody wrong. It’s just that, Harry deserves a shot too. Please?”

Weasley’s words completely disarmed Draco. The ginger nuisance was right. Potter deserved a chance. “Fine,” Draco said resignedly. “but I’ll need your help figuring out what he’s on, and you have to make sure he gets clean afterwards. You’ll also have to come up with some sort of cover story for him. I don’t know how long he’ll be a baby for, but Robards will be expecting him back soon, right?”

“Yeah. I’m going to tell ‘Mione.”

“You haven’t told Granger?”

“It’s Weasley now, and no. She worries so much about Harry, and when she worries, she nags. And when someone nags Harry, he just goes out and does the opposite, for spite. He’s not used to people looking out for him, you know? He’s always done the opposite of what people want him to do.”

“I had noticed,” Draco drawled. “Fine, tell Granger. I could use her help, to be honest. Will you be telling…” for a moment, Draco struggled to remember the name of the female Weasley, but finally it reappeared, “Ginervra?”

“Nah, she’s likely to tell mum, and nobody wants that. If you think Hermione nags…I’ll figure out a story that will satisfy them all.”

“Okay, well, I’ll need you to bring him back later, so I can get samples.”

“Bring him back? Malfoy, what do you expect me to do with him?”

“I’m sure I don’t know.”

“How am I supposed to concoct a cover story for him when I’m carrying around a little munchkin with black hair and a sodding lightning bolt scar?”

“I suppose that would draw some attention,” Draco admitted. “Well, call Granger. Surely she can take him.”

“You don’t know what you’re saying,” Weasley said with a moan. “Hermione is going to have questions, hundreds of them. And then we’re going to have a fight. And only then will she help me come up with a story before she disappears into a library to do research. I don’t have time for all of that.”

It was a weak excuse at best, but Draco was suddenly tired, and overwhelmed by what he had just agreed to. “So you want me to…babysit?” He wasn’t sure why he bothered asking, it’s patently obvious, but he somehow wanted to hear Weasley ask, to state that he trusted the vulnerable, infant into Draco’s care.

“Yeah, I reckon I do,” Weasley sighed.

“Go fetch me the supplies he’ll need, and then be quick about your errands. I’ll need your help with him if I’m to figure out how to cure him.”

“Alright. I’ll send an owl with whatever he needs, and I’ll be back when I can.” Weasley disappeared into the floo quickly, a bit desperately, if Draco were being honest, but at the last minute, he popped his head back into the room. “Malfoy, do you even know how to look after a baby?”

“How hard can it be?” Draco scoffed, not letting any of his utter terror at the situation to show on his face.


	3. Chapter 3

Caring for a baby, it turned out, was much more difficult than it appeared to be. Potter seemed happy enough to sit and contemplate his fingers while Weasley and Draco had been talking, but the moment Weasley flooed away, he set his enormous green eyes on Draco’s face expectantly. 

“Hello again, Potter,” Draco said. Potter’s chubby face was suddenly wreathed in an enormous grin as he raised his arms to be picked up. “No thank you,” Draco said politely, but firmly. Potter’s arms bobbed for a second, and he tilted his head in confusion before letting out a huffy little sigh and lowering them. Looking determined, he focused on extracting himself from the towel he’d been wrapped in, and set off to crawl towards Draco. 

“Stay where you are,” Draco commanded, his voice wavering a little, which caused Potter to still momentarily and examine Draco’s face again. Whatever he saw there didn’t deter him, and the baby continued steadfastly crawling towards Draco, who squawked in surprise and took a step backward. This seemed hilarious to Potter, who chuckled in glee before redoubling his pursuit. “Stop, now, Potter!” Draco can hear the thin edge of panic in his voice.

“Pottah,” mumbled the baby. “Pottah, Pottah, Pottah,”

“Yes, of course you’d chant your own name. I’d be happy to summon a member of your fan club, but only if you stay back!” The last few words came out harsher than he’d intended, and, while they stopped the baby in its tracks, they also had an unintended consequence. Potter sat his unclothed arse on Draco’s clean floor and gave him such a familiar look of stunned outrage that Draco nearly laughed, despite his horror. Two chubby fists rubbed at his eyes, and his bow lips opened to emit such an ear-splitting scream that Draco cried out himself. The baby continued to howl, fat tears rolling down his cheeks and dripping off his chin.

“No, Potter, stop. I…apologize for insulting you. It’s…there, there.” Draco edged a tentative step closer to the baby and, mustering up every ounce of courage he’d ever possessed, reached out and patted Potter’s arm. Potter, in turn, lifted his arms beseechingly, and sobbed. “Merlin fuck,” Draco muttered. The baby continued to cry, and Draco continued to panic. It took him several minutes to muster up his resolve, but finally, with a shudder, he picked Potter up and held him at arm’s length. Potter clung to Draco’s arms, and like an octopus, tried to pull himself closer. 

Draco’s breath was coming in frantic gasps, and his skin crawled. But the baby continued crying, and pulling at Draco’s arms. Before he knew what was happening, Harry had somehow managed to insinuate himself against Draco’s chest. His wails stopped after a while, and only the occasional shuddering breath gave any indication of his earlier upset. Soon, Potter fell asleep, a busy day of lab destruction, de-aging, and tormenting Draco, rounded out by a bout of hysterical crying, having taken its toll. Draco quickly transfigured a stool into a bassinet, and popped the baby inside, grateful for an opportunity to address the destruction within his lab. The moment his back touched the bassinet, Potter’s eyes flew open, and his lower lip trembled. 

“Oh fuck _this_ ,” Draco said fervently, but managed to pick Potter back up and held him as close as he was able to. When his eyes finally remained closed, Draco cast a levitation spell on the baby, and he bobbed along at Draco’s hairline while he started to mend his lab.

He was nearly finished collecting potion residue when the owl arrived, a shrunken bundle of baby supplies tied neatly to its claw. Draco unpacked the supplies gratefully, and spelled a diaper immediately onto the sleeping form. _That_ was one mess Draco was particularly happy to evade. His lab was restored, more or less, and Draco was busy scrubbing the floors of the decontamination shower with a Muggle bottle of bleach, when Weasley arrived.

“Yech, what’s that whiff?” Weasley asked, when Draco had opened the floo for him. 

“Cleaning,” Draco muttered. Potter had awakened a half hour earlier, and Draco had left him floating, but cast a bubblehead charm to protect his tiny lungs from bleach fumes. The baby was entranced by the shield, and was poking his fingers at it with wide eyes.

“Wotcher, Harry,” Weasley said. The baby grinned at him, and reached with grabby hands. Ron cancelled the levitation spell but left the bobblehead, and picked him up. “So,” he told Draco, “I told the Ministry that Harry had to help a sick family member. Thank Merlin that Robards has no interest in the fact that we have actual personal lives or he’d know that Harry _has_ no family members. If it had been Kingsley, I would have had to come up with something else. Hermione was livid, of course, and then after she was finished shouting at me, she headed off to the research library. She said she’ll come by around seven, if you don’t mind.”

“’S’fine,” Draco said, still scrubbing, wearily resigned to having people befouling his house until he could fix this.

“Erm, Malfoy, I think that bit’s clean,” Weasley said, and indeed, Draco had been scrubbing the same tile for rather a while. He gave it three more wipes for good measure, and sat up.

“So you can take him, now?”

“No, Malfoy, I can’t. I have to go back to the Ministry before anyone figures out that Harry and I are both gone.”

“Well, how do you expect me to figure this out? I can’t very well do research and babysit at the same time.”

“Don’t you lot have a ton of house elves?”

“No,” Draco said shortly. They didn’t, they’d all been freed by the Ministry as part of the reparations after the war.

“I reckon Kreacher can swing by for a while,” Weasley said, “but he’s not exactly the first elf I’d put in charge of a baby.” Draco wrinkled his nose. The name sounded familiar. “I don’t know how to call him,” Weasley continued. “he isn’t mine, after all. Can Harry talk?”

Draco shrugged. “He can say ‘Potter’,” 

“Harry,” Weasley said. “Can you say ‘Kreacher’?” Potter tilted his head for a moment and his lips moved, suggesting he was yelling, but the bubblehead prevented them from hearing the words. Impatiently, Draco cancelled the spell, and Potter looked thoughtful before sneezing three times. Draco cast a freshening charm while Weasley said again, “Harry, say ‘Kreacher’.”

The sound that came out of Potter’s mouth sounded nothing like ‘Kreacher’, but somehow, magic compensates, and the oldest, filthiest house elf Draco had ever seen popped into the lab. “Master Potter, the filthy mud-” Kreacher’s words cut off abruptly as he laid eyes on the scene. “Master Harry is being a baby,” he said, his tone reverent, and his goggle eyes widening.

“Kreacher, I need you to help me care for Master Harry,” Draco said imperiously.

“Master Malfoy, it is an honour to serve the true heir of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black,” Kreacher replied, bowing low. 

Weasley rolled his eyes. “Figures you’re the one he’d finally find his manners for. Anyhow, looks like you’re sorted. I’ll pop by with Hermione later.”

The afternoon passed…tolerably. Kreacher, as Weasley had pointed out, was mad as a brush, but he was entranced by Harry Potter in baby form, and was able to care for him for several hours while Draco worked. After liberating some blood and hair samples from the baby, and placing them into a potion bath to scan for toxins, Draco took advantage of the time, noting down precise formulas in his notebook, and only occasionally casting a slightly desperate glance at the portion of shower he’d not yet cleaned. When he’d finished with the complex arithmancy required to determine the exact stage the inflammation reducer had reached before mixing with the blood thickener, he finally allowed himself to scrub down the shower before entering it himself. His self-cleaning rituals, left unchecked, often took a great deal of time, but, noting that it had been suspiciously quiet in the flat above, he rushed through his ablutions, and summoned a fresh set of robes from the wardrobe. 

Clean, still allowing his mind to tick through the calculations he’d noted, he climbed the stairs to find that Kreacher and Potter were in the sitting room. Kreacher was levitating some priceless eighteenth century china cups in an elaborate ballet, to Potter’s riotous amusement. The baby was laughing enormous belly laughs, and, despite his fear for the china, Draco found himself smiling. Potter reached starfish hands towards Draco, and Kreacher, a little shamefaced, quickly directed the china back to its spot in the cabinet and bowed low. “Master Harry Potter has been changed and dressed for dinner,” he said in his gravelly bullfrog voice. Indeed, the baby had been dressed in very old-fashioned formal dining robes, which, while rather fetching, seemed a bit overdone for the occasion.

“Thank you, Kreacher. You must be tired. You’re welcome to stay here, or, if you prefer, you can return to your home, and come back tomorrow.”

“Kreacher will be returning to Grimmauld Place and returning when Master Malfoy is needing him. Master Malfoy need only call and Kreacher will return.” With a snap of his fingers, the elf had disappeared, and Potter stared at the spot where he’d been with a look of wonder.

“Alright Potter, since you’re all dressed up, let’s see if we can find something to feed you,” Draco said, and after some fierce negotiation with himself, gingerly lifted the baby. Kreacher had thoughtfully left dinner, a perfectly done steak for Draco, and a series of bowls of mushy puree for Potter, all under a warming charm. With only a fleeting thought for his damask chairs, Draco entered the dining room, the food floating obediently behind him. In the end, he was unable to risk the priceless silk chairs, and so he returned to the kitchen, food trailing behind, and transfigured one of the serviceable stools into a makeshift highchair. Potter, it seemed, wanted nothing to do with the chair, and persisted in struggling and climbing out of the chair, until a sticking charm secured his bottom to the seat. He howled in frustration as his rear end resisted his efforts, and registered his dismay by spitting out every mouthful Draco attempted to deposit. 

So, it was a shrieking baby, and a sweaty, puce-faced Draco, that met Weasley and Granger when, promptly at seven, they exited the floo. “Harry!” Granger cried, and crossed the room swiftly. As she attempted to pick him up, she discovered the sticking charm, and she raised an eyebrow in Draco’s direction. He was about to explain himself, but she merely said, “That’s brilliant. I’d never have thought of that,” before cancelling the spell and retrieving Potter. Potter, the disloyal little shit, burrowed his filthy face into her robes and immediately stopped crying, furthering the insult by opening his mouth like an obedient baby bird when Granger took over.

“Mum will kill you if you try that with Rose,” Weasley cautioned, and Granger tsked in annoyance at him. “Rose is our baby,” Weasley confided. “I expect she’s close to Harry’s age.”

“How old is he, do you think, Weasley?” Draco asked, still a little put out that Potter had been such a turncoat.

“You may as well call me Ron, since we’re in this up to our necks. I’d say he’s about 15 months or so.”

“It makes sense, given how angry his scar looks,” Granger added. “and feel free to call me Hermione.”

“Oh,” Draco said, nonplussed, “then I suppose you must call me Draco.” This earned him a wry little smile from Ron, and and approving nod from Hermione. “I didn’t know you had a baby of your own. Congratulations.”

“Thanks,” Ron said. “It’s marvellous, really, when I’ve gotten enough sleep to appreciate it. Where’s Kreacher?”

“He’s awfully strange and I couldn’t fathom making small talk with him, so I sent him home,” Draco answered.

“He really is old. I don’t think that there’s a problem having him look after Harry while you’re working, but I wouldn’t trust him on his own. He’s…a little confused, since the war,” Hermione said, trying to be diplomatic.

“Yes, I’d noticed. He was entertaining Potter by levitating Great Grandmother Malfoy’s china when I came upstairs.”

“Draco,” Hermione said, “you can’t call him ‘Potter’. He’s just a baby. It will confuse him.”

“Pottah!” Harry, the little traitor, said, through a mouthful of smashed peas.

Ron grinned. “Will you have him call you Uncle Malfoy?”

“I hope to fix this before he has a chance to call me anything,” Draco answered. Harry’s enormous eyes fixed on his, and he extended his hands towards Draco. With a sigh, Draco reached over and, surpassing a shudder, took the baby, nearly dropping him when he noted that his elaborate dress robes were encrusted with food.

“It’s…um…nice that you dressed Harry for dinner, Draco. Anyway, I’ve been doing some research, and I’m interested to compare the chemical compounds of some of the more common street potions to what Harry fell into.”

“I’ll have you know I didn’t dress him, that was Kreacher. It would be helpful if we could get any information on what Potter’s been taking, though,” Draco answered. “Are you sure we can’t ask your sister if she has any ideas?”

“No!” Hermione’s voice was shrill. “No,” she amended, more calmly, “let’s see how you and I do first. Ronald, could you keep Harry entertained? Maybe he could use a bath after he’s done eating.”

“Sure,” Ron agreed easily, and Hermione followed Draco down to the lab.

“What is it?” Draco asked, the moment he’d shut the door behind them. Hermione gave him a guilty look. “Out with it, Granger. Don’t think I didn’t notice that you nearly bit my head off when I suggested asking Ginervra.”

“It’s Hermione, and it’s nothing, at least, I hope it’s nothing,” Hermione said, biting her lip. “Only, something doesn’t add up about Harry’s potion use. He’s certainly been a little different since the war ended, but I don’t see any symptoms that suggest that he’s abusing any potions. He doesn’t display the behaviour of an addict, and Harry is terrible at keeping secrets. I’m not sure, if Harry is in fact under an influence, that he knows about it at all.”

“He was always a bit oblivious, but being unaware of his potion addiction is a stretch. We should know soon whether he has anything strange in his bloodstream, something not accounted for by the potions we do know of. Still though, you suspect more than you’re telling me.”

Hermione looked conflicted. “You have to promise me not to breathe a word of this to anyone. I’d never abuse Harry’s trust if you didn’t absolutely need to know this. I don’t know if you ever heard, but Harry and I spent a fair bit of our…camping holiday during seventh year…on our own. We got separated from Ron, and, well, there was a lot of time with just Harry and I, alone in a tent.”

Draco’s eyes widened. “No!” Hermione rushed to continue. “No, nothing like what you’re thinking. The opposite, in fact. We had a lot of time to talk, and one night Harry confessed to me that had some questions about his sexual inclinations.”

“Potter’s gay?” 

“He thought that he might be. We never discussed it again, and then when he and Ginny reconciled after V-Voldemort died, I figured he was just confused, and that he’d decided that he was straight after all. But he changed so much, Draco. When we were camping, he told me that the idea of being intimate with Ginny was repulsive to him. He couldn’t imagine sex with any woman, but Ginny specifically…he thought of her like a younger sister.”

“Ugh,” Draco shuddered.

“Exactly. I know that having a family has always been really important to Harry, though, and the idea of disappointing the Weasleys, of not being a part of that family, it haunted him. So I have no idea whether he’d just had too much wine when he confessed that he had sexual thoughts about-” Her voice cut off and she blushed to the roots of her hair before taking a breath and continuing, “a man, but had decided that he was straight, or maybe bi, and ended up falling in love with Ginny. I don’t know if he still doesn’t feel that way about Ginny, but is forcing himself to be with her to keep the only family he’s ever known. Or…”

“Whether something else is at play that makes him think he wants Ginny. You suspect an attraction potion?”

“I think it’s possible. Ginny has always been head over heels for Harry. And, she’s the youngest child, the only girl, and she’s terribly indulged. She isn’t used to being refused. I hate to think this of my sister-in-law, but Harry…well, he’s Harry, isn’t he?” Her smile grew fonder. “Harry is my brother, in all but blood. He’s more my family than anyone, except Ron.”

“Well,” Draco said. “let’s see what the toxicology potions tell us.” As part of his consultancy with the DMLE, Draco had developed a screening potion that scanned for common hallucinogens. He’d added Harry’s blood to the potion earlier, and had been simmering it all afternoon. Ladling some into a clear vial, he compared the colour of the potion to the laminated chart he had posted on the wall. It didn’t match any of them. “Well, he’s negative for Gillyweed, Angel’s Kiss, Euphoria, Devil’s throat and Sundance,” Draco said, reading off the list. “I hadn’t thought to test him for a love potion, but, unless there’s a new strain of hallucinogen, I think your theory has merit.”

“It can’t be that new, whatever Harry’s on,” Hermione said, examining the results from beside him. “Harry’s been different for four years.”

“Alright,” Draco said, “let’s explore your theory a little further. Let’s say that Ginervra Weasley has been somehow dosing Potter…Harry,” he amended quickly when Hermione gave him a look, “with some form of control potion for four years. What’s her end game? She can’t keep potioning him forever, can she?”

“I think she hopes that it won’t be required forever. She’s desperate for Harry to propose. I think, after the wedding, she’d planned to come clean, and hope that he’s grown to love her.”

“That’s mad.”

“I know,” Hermione agreed miserably, “but honestly, it makes more sense than Harry taking some as-yet undiscovered mind-altering potion. He’s an Auror, Draco, it’s all he’s ever wanted to be. He doesn’t even take headache potions when he’s on-duty. He took a little too much dreamless sleep just before he defeated Voldemort, and it scared him. He was terrified of being addicted. Any time I’ve been at a party with him, he refuses Gillyweed. He doesn’t even drink really, just Butterbeer. He doesn’t care if anyone else does it, but he’s horrified at being out of control himself. It just doesn’t track.”

“So then, if our working theory is Ginerva’s love potion, what’s _your_ end game? You haven’t told Ron about this, so what will you do if you find out you’re right?”

“I’ll have to tell them, turn her in,” Hermione said, her voice empty. “It’s the right thing to do. Sometimes, even if it’s hard, you have to do the right thing.”

“I know,” Draco said, and even he heard the bitterness in his voice. Hermione seemed to think for a moment before her big brown eyes met his.

“Draco, I…I never thanked you for your letter. I wasn’t sure how to respond to your apologies, but I wanted to know that I really appreciated it. And I believe that you’re doing the right things, since…well, since. And what you’re doing for Harry…I just…thank you, Draco.” To Draco’s horror-filled surprise, Hermione wrapped her arms around him. Draco stiffened, and she immediately backed off.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, “I don’t really like to be touched. But thank you, for what you said. I appreciate it.”

“Alright,” Hermione said presently, changing the subject gracefully, “there must be a few ingredients that are common to all love potions, right?”

“Yes,” Draco said slowly, summoning a thick volume from his bookshelf. Before long, they were immersed in theory, bouncing ideas excitedly off one another. It was…it was fun, Draco realized.

A throat clearing at the door had both of them startling, and Ron grinned. “I never thought I’d see the two biggest swots from Hogwarts, Gryffindor and Slytherin, heads bent over the same book and not bickering about it. Look at all our personal growth!”

“Indeed,” Draco said, a little embarrassed.

“Listen, I just wanted to let you know, I’m going back to the Burrow, picking up Rose, yeah? Harry’s out like a light, he’s been bathed, and I put him to bed.”

“Bed?” Draco asked. “Where?”

“In the nursery. Do you have a baby somewhere Draco? I didn’t expect to see a full nursery in your posh flat.”

“Either did I,” Draco said. “I didn’t have one this morning.”

“Kreacher,” Ron grinned. “I told you he was mad about babies. He must have done it this afternoon. Well, Harry’s all set, and there’s a monitoring charm to let you know if he wakes up.”

“Thanks, Ron.”

“If you need anything, Hermione can give you our floo address. I’ll come by on my lunch break tomorrow.”

“Actually,” Draco said, “I have an appointment that I can’t miss on Thursday. You’re welcome to come tomorrow, but I need help on Thursday at one, specifically.”

“I have a court appearance,” Ron said, but then brightened, “Oh, Mum can come over.”  
Hermione’s eyes flashed in panic at Draco, and he said, “Weren’t you afraid that you’d cause an almighty fuss if you told your mother?”

“Oh, right,” Ron said. “Bugger. I’ll have to tell her and Gin that he’s away on a mission.”

“Never mind,” Draco said, “I’ll figure something out.”

“I’d help, but I’m the defence council at the same hearing,” Hermione said.

“Well, there is one person I know who’d be happy to help.”

“Oh, brilliant,” Ron said, “Well, I’m off.” 

“Wait! Don’t you want to know who?” Draco asked.

“Nah, I trust you, Draco,” Ron replied, giving them both an easy grin. “Don’t stay out playing with potions too late, ‘Mione,”


	4. Chapter 4

Hermione _did_ stay out too late, it turned out. They’d nearly identified all of the potential ingredients, and had started putting together some preliminary diagnostic formulas when suddenly Draco’s face nearly split apart with an enormous yawn. “Oh Merlin,” Hermione said, casting Tempus. “I have to go, I had no idea it had gotten so late. Are you sure you don’t want me to take Harry back with me?”

“Do you think you should?”

They climbed two flights of stairs, where, sure enough, a nursery had appeared next to Draco’s bedroom. It was beautiful, with walls painted a soft blue, and a mural of an enormous Quidditch pitch, complete with bludgers and a quaffle, and a tiny snitch that danced into the corner. The oak crib looked antique, and Draco was rather sure that Kreacher had liberated it from the Black house’s attic. Inside the crib, wrapped in a fluffy blue blanket, Harry lay, sleeping soundly. His hair was a riot of tousles, and his arms were splayed above his head, tiny fists clenched. His lips were slack and his long eyelashes fanned his cheeks. Despite himself, Draco’s heart clenched a little. “He looks so innocent,” Draco whispered.

“I’ve never seen him sleep so peacefully. Usually, he thrashes around, and talks a lot. Ginny always complains about how much of a nightmare he is to sleep beside. I wonder if he always slept like this, as a baby.” Hermione whispered back.

“It seems wrong, somehow, to wake him up,” Draco said, despite his better judgement. “Leave him, Hermione. We’ll be fine.”

Hermione reached to hug him again, remembering at the last minute, and instead simply blew him a kiss. “Goodnight Draco. Do you want me to lock the floo behind me?”

“Sure,” Draco said. He heard the whoosh of the floo a few moments later, and stood for a moment longer, watching his schoolboy nemesis sleeping peacefully in his crib.

Then, he went through the house and completed his nighttime routine, warding each window and door, checking each burner in his lab to ensure that they were off, warding the fireproof cabinet where his potions research was kept. He checked the floo wards, and then rechecked each window and door, passing the floos and triple-checking them one last time before turning off the gas lamps in order.

Finally, checks completed, he put on a pair of sleep pants, and fell into bed. He soon regretted his wistful benevolence, allowing Harry to remain sleeping in his crib. He’d only just drifted off to sleep when an earsplitting shriek tore through the air. On his feet in an instant, wand at the ready, Draco looked wildly around his room, but saw nothing out of place. The monitoring charms that Ron had cast on Harry started pinging urgently then, and he remembered, in a flash, who was sharing his house. He ran into the nursery, and found nothing awry, save a small child, on his knees in his crib, screaming at the top of his lungs. “Mama,” Harry wailed. “Mama, Mama.”

Uncertain for a moment, Draco merely stared at the baby, whose cries for his mother soon dissolved into heartbroken sobs. Finally, his feet seemed to make the decision for him, and Draco found himself crossing the room to the crib, and scooping the baby into his arms. Harry clung to him, still screaming. “Hush,” Draco whispered, his heart thumping in his ears, fervently attempting to not think of the snot that was likely dripping down Harry’s face. “Please, Harry, it’s okay.”

“Mama,” Harry sobbed again, his hands wrapping around Draco’s neck. Harry’s tears were running down his face, and onto Draco’s chest. 

“I know, this must be scary,” Draco soothed. A rocking chair that he hadn’t previously noticed, creaked a little, and Draco sank into it, Harry tight against his chest. Rocking slowly, Draco sang the song his mother had comforted him with as a child. “Sleep, my dear one, dry your tears, unicorns and fairies take away your fears. Fly with the dragons, through the peaceful night, I will be here with you, 'til the morning light.” The singing seemed to calm Harry, his tears eventually tapering off.

“Ma-” Harry said, then his chest hitched in a shuddering breath, “ma.”

“Your mama loved you very much, Harry,” Draco whispered. “She wishes she was here with you, and your dada too.”

Harry snuffled, burrowing his face closer to Draco, who stiffened, but secured the little bundle on his lap. “It’s been a hard day, hasn’t it?” Draco said gently. “It’s only to be expected that you’re a bit unsettled.”

He continued to rock the baby, letting his thoughts drift, watching as Harry fell properly asleep and had little baby dreams. Some time later, Draco’s rest was interrupted by a blinding flash of pain as a set of chubby fingers investigated his eye. “Merlin!” Draco opened the eye that wasn’t sluicing tears and found a set of curious green eyes watching him. “Fuck, Harry, that’s not the way to wake someone up.”

“Fuh,” Harry answered, and Draco immediately regretted his profanity.

“Please don’t start saying that, Hermione will have my bollocks if I’ve taught you to call yourself Potter, and say a fairly unbecoming curse word.”

“Fuh!” Harry answered. “Fuh Pottah!”

_Fuck Potter indeed_ , Draco thought, dragging himself out of the rocking chair. His back and neck ached from sleeping in the rocking chair. Harry’s hands patted Draco’s cheeks gently. “Pottah,” Harry said.

“Don’t call me that,” Draco said sulkily. “Can you call me Uncle Malfoy?”

Harry’s forehead creased in thought for a moment before he grinned at Draco, tiny milk teeth on display. “Fuh!” 

“Kreacher?” Draco called blearily into the ether. 

The house elf popped into existence at Draco’s bedside. “Good morning, Master Malfoy. Good morning, Small Master Harry Potter. Would Master Malfoy be wanting tea?”

“God, yes,” Draco whimpered.

“Go and prepare yourself for the day, Master Malfoy. Kreacher is taking Small Master Harry Potter and caring for him.” Kreacher extended his long skinny arms towards the baby, who squealed in delight and pitched himself out of Draco’s arms. Kreacher chuckled, and caught him, disappearing quickly from the room. Draco could faintly hear Kreacher’s croaky voice, and Harry’s high pitched responses, and he vaguely hoped that Harry wasn’t demonstrating his new vocabulary. He spelled Harry’s sheets to the laundry, and cast a Scourgify on every surface. It wasn’t enough, it was never enough, but Draco knew that if he got out his cleaning supplies, the day would be lost.

Draco soon disappeared into his lab, and, aside from the occasional ominous thump from the floor above, was able to lose himself in his work. It was nearly ten o’clock when Draco realized that he hadn’t done any of his morning rituals. Something for the journal, he resolved, and dove back into his research, only stopping for a few minutes when a cup of tea and a freshly baked scone appeared on his desk.

At midday, Ron and Hermione appeared, Ron disappearing upstairs to play with Harry, while Hermione pored over his notes. “Draco, this is excellent,” she said, after she’d made her way through the parchments. “I truly think you’re on to something. It’s the Valerian from the blood thickener, the Monkshood and the Sage from the inflammation potion, and the Ashwinder eggs from the love potion.”

“I’m nearly positive,” Draco agreed. “I’ve created a tincture of the four ingredients, and we just need to perfect the ratios, then I can create an antidote.”

“Oh my gosh,” Hermione said suddenly. “She did it, didn’t she? It was really Ginny.”

“Not necessarily,” Draco said, “but I can’t think of a single potion that could contain Ashwinder Eggs and provide a hallucinatory effect. If the testing supports my theory, I think we can safely say that someone dosed Harry with a love potion.”

“Gin’s the only one with opportunity,” Hermione said. “Can we test your tincture now?”

“I suppose,” Draco said. “No point in waiting, since you’ve validated my thought process.” He conjured a rat, and took careful measurements of its length and weight, then dropped four drops of the tincture onto its back. Nothing happened, and Hermione sighed deeply. “It didn’t happen right away,” Draco said. “Harry was in the decontamination shower when he changed.” They waited a few more minutes, and Draco muttered, “I wonder,” before casting _Auguamenti_ on the rat, which immediately shrank to half its size. Hermione squealed in excitement, and the rat squealed in fear. Draco took more measurements, blood and hair samples, and then put the rat into a cage. When he turned back to the table, Hermione was staring glassily at the vial of Ashwinder eggs.

“It’s all going to change, now,” she said.

“I’m sorry,” Draco said, and was a little surprised to find that he meant it. He was sorry for Hermione, who would now have to cause unimaginable strife amongst her family. He was sorry for Ron, who would have to reconcile the space between his little sister’s duplicity and his longtime best friend. He was even sorry for Ginervra, who, although her actions were reprehensible, was so desperate to make Harry love her that she did the unthinkable. Draco knew only too well what it felt like to be faced with unsurmountable challenges from all angles. Most surprisingly, though, he was heartrendingly sorry for Harry, who, when he was finally adult enough to understand it, would have to cope with the betrayal of someone who he trusted, a member of his chosen family. “I’ll do everything I can to help you,” he said quietly, and Hermione’s deep brown eyes filled with tears.

“You already are,” she whispered. “Help me get Harry back, and I’ll never be able to repay you.” The tears spilled over her lashes, and she choked back a sob. 

“I’ll give you a minute,” Draco said, and fled upstairs to find Ron absentmindedly shooting brightly coloured fireworks from his wand. Harry was bouncing excitedly on his feet, arms extended towards the sparks. As Draco and Ron looked on, he took a shaky step in the direction of Ron’s wand. “He’s never done that before,” Draco said, a grin splitting his face.

Ron looked delightedly back. “Fuck me,” he breathed, “I never thought I’d see Harry’s first steps. Well done, mate!”

“Fuh!” Harry chortled gleefully, as he lost his balance and fell on his rear.

Ron’s face filled with horror. “Merlin, did he just say what I think he did?”

Draco had long ago reconciled himself to the fact that he wasn’t a good man. He was a man who made awful choices, and a coward, and he knew he would be punished in the afterlife. Whatever guilt he struggled with on a daily basis about his moral fibre, he had no compunction whatsoever about widening his eyes, and replying, “Hermione’s going to kill you.”


	5. Chapter 5

Hours later, his back even stiffer and more sore, and his eyes gritty, Draco was nearly certain that he’d figured out the antidote to restore Harry to his adult form. His eyes flicked to the ceiling. He knew that Kreacher was likely tired, but he sent a silent prayer to Morgana (and anyone else who might be paying attention) for just fifteen more minutes. He checked his calculations one last time to be sure the dosage was correct, and gathered the baby rat from its cage. Taking a deep breath to steady his nerves, he administered four droplets of the antidote to the back of the rat’s neck. He watched as the rat took a cautious step. Its eyes met Draco’s as it took another step and its whole body suddenly shuddered. Its feet started to grow first, the change rippling through the rest of its body as it rapidly grew. There was a blinding flash of light, which was truly unexpected from a rat, even one conjured via magical means. Suddenly, the rat squealed, and fell sideways onto the table. It didn’t move, and Draco hesitantly cast a spell. As he confirmed that the conjured rat was no longer animated, Draco buried his face in his hands. He could make Harry big again, but not keep him alive. He’d need to start over.

Defeated, Draco climbed the stairs, and found Kreacher and Harry in the kitchen. Kreacher was happily preparing food and chattering away in his gravelly voice. Harry was babbling back to Kreacher, his voice resembling a dolphin. None of these things were unexpected, but Draco was truly surprised to hear a third voice. “Good evening, my Dragon. Perhaps you might like to tell me why you have a baby who looks remarkably like Harry Potter in your kitchen?”

“M-mother!” Draco’s voice was higher than he’d expected it to be as well, although not quite in dolphin range. “What a surprise.”

“I imagine it is,” Narcissa agreed. “Tell me, is that Harry Potter being tended to by my Auntie Walburga’s house elf?”

Harry grinned at her and then shouted, “Fuh!”

Draco heartily agreed, but said, “Yes, Mother, of course it is.” He’d found, in his dealings with his parents, that the best defence was a confident offence. “And to what do we owe the pleasure of your company? Are you joining us for dinner?”

“Oh yes,” Narcissa said, her voice suddenly icy. “I expect it’s going to take quite some time for you to explain to me how you could be so stupid as to kidnap Harry Potter, and turn him into a child. Honestly, Draco, I know that you’ve carried an unhealthy obsession with that boy for most of your life, but this is beyond the pale! I know you’ve been struggling with your…issues for a while, but if I ever imagined you’d be capable of such a truly mad course of action, I would have stopped you in your tracks.”

“Mother!” Draco’s voice was appalled, and angry, and the unexpected volume and tone caused Harry’s lower lip to tremble and he immediately started crying frightened sobs. Kreacher clucked in dismay and reached for the baby, but Draco beat him to Harry’s side. “Hush, Harry, I’m sorry. Did that frighten you? It’s okay.” Without thinking, he gathered the baby close, and rubbed his back.

“Honestly, Mother,” Draco continued, in a much more soothing, but still quite angry tone, “as usual, you’ve come to the completely wrong conclusion. Thank you, for your faith in me. Harry is a baby, because he managed to expose himself to a number of potions ingredients which caused this reaction. I was merely a bystander at the time. He is here because I’m working to cure him, under the direct supervision of his two best friends.” Narcissa looked relieved, and chastened. “However, I particularly want to thank you for your oh-so-supportive analysis of my…what did you call them? Issues? It’s wonderful to know that, despite everything I’ve done to try to restore our family’s reputation, all of the work I’ve done to regain balance after my train wreck of a childhood, that to my Mother, I’m still just another morally lacking Death Eater.”

Narcissa had paled during Draco’s venom-laden retort, but as he finally ran out of steam, she seemed to wilt. Suddenly, the proud, hard woman looked old. The patrician lines of her face crumbled a little and her lower lip trembled, in much the same way baby Harry’s had just a few moments ago. “My darling,” she whispered, “it seems that there is no end to the number of ways I can wrong you. I am ashamed. You’re right, utterly and completely. I’m so sorry.”

For a moment, they stood there, each examining the other. Harry sighed softly in Draco’s arms and nestled closer. Narcissa seemed to see something in Draco’s expression, and she stood. “I’m sorry,” she said again. “I’ll go. Please forgive me.” As she walked towards the floo, her always-elegant posture seemed to droop. 

Draco watched her go for as long as he could stand, before saying, “Wait.” Narcissa stilled, but didn’t turn around. Her back tensed, as though she was awaiting further criticism. “I could use some advice, if you have time. I don’t know the first thing about baby care.”

For a split second, Draco thought that his mother would continue her path to the floo, to escape another confrontation. Then, she turned, and Draco could see a hesitant, hopeful smile on her lips. “He’s really quite a beautiful baby,” she remarked. “Mister Potter is a handsome man, but I somehow never pictured just how lovely his features would be in miniature.”

“Some guys have all the luck,” Draco said mildly.

Her lip quirked. “I seem to recall another unnaturally beautiful baby, once upon a time, but the colouring was all different.”

Unexpectedly, Draco grinned at her. “I’ll have you know that a Malfoy is never unnatural. Ethereally beautiful, certainly.”

“How silly of me,” Narcissa said in return, her lips curving into a wider smile. “May I?” Draco passed Harry over to her, and, although he uttered a little grunt of complaint, Harry allowed Draco’s Mother to hold him. 

As he examined her carefully, Harry seemed entranced by the woman. His hands came up to touch her face, but he hesitated at the last second, and ultimately allowed only a single finger to touch the side of her lips. “Wow,” Harry breathed, allowing his finger to gently explore Narcissa’s cheek, but returned to her full red lips. Narcissa laughed, and pretended to bite the chubby digit, prompting a chuckle from Harry. He looked at Draco, his forehead crinkling, and then back at Narcissa. “Mama?” His voice was uncertain, and his eyes swept back to Draco’s for confirmation.

“Yes, this is my Mama,” Draco answered.

“My Mama,” Harry echoed. Draco wasn’t sure if Harry was agreeing with him, or inquiring after his own mother, but he edged closer, and petted Harry’s hair back off his forehead.

Narcissa eyed his scar. “That scar is freshly healed,” she observed. “He must have de-aged to a point not long after…” The rest remained unsaid. “You have no idea,” she said to the baby, “of the life that lies ahead of you. Poor little darling.”

“Will you watch him? Tomorrow? I…I have my appointment with Lara.”

“Of course, darling. I noticed that you’ve been holding the baby. That seems like an awful lot of progress.”

“Well, needs must. Strange, how things work out, isn’t it?”

“Sometimes, they work out exactly as they should.”

Lara, unsurprisingly, was not in favour of Draco’s newly appointed role of nanny to the Saviour of the Wizarding World. “You do like to bite off more than you can chew,” she remarked.

“It’s not as though I had a choice,” Draco replied, a little defensively.

“Didn’t you? Do you really think that this is prioritizing your own mental health?”

“I think that being given a chance to atone-”

“I’ll stop you there, to remind you that atonement is not a goal that we identified for you. I’ll remind you as well that we agreed that forgiveness for your past choices is irrelevant. Society will accept you as you are, or it won’t, but the most important thing right now is to continue to put your own needs at the forefront of your actions.”

“It’s not so simple…”

“It’s very simple, Draco. You were, as we’ve discussed many times, a pawn in a war fought by adults. Your actions, whether well-considered or not, were the best choices that you could make under the circumstances. I’ll remind you that the Wizengamot itself cleared you of all charges, due to your status as a youth offender, and your attempts to rehabilitate during your probation. Your continued self-flagellation is unproductive, given that it doesn’t help you manage your symptoms, or find peace with your circumstances.”

“Tell that to Katie Bell,” Draco replied. “Or Vincent Crabbe, or Albus Dumbledore, or Madam Rosemerta, or Ron Weasley, or…”

“Or Harry Potter?” Lara asked, smiling gently at him. “And that, right there, is why this isn’t a healthy course of action. Your past is behind you.”

“Exactly,” Draco said firmly. “And in the present, I want to be the person who chooses the right side, who doesn’t stand by while others suffer. I want to…”

“You want to be the Saviour.”

“No!” Draco was shouting now. “No! Damnit, Lara, this isn’t to settle a score, or to gain favour from those who hold political sway. For once in my life, I want to be proud that I did the difficult thing, that I chose the _right_ thing. I want to prioritize the good of others above my own gain.”

“Those are all very noble goals, and something that you can work towards, Draco. But, I want to tell you about Muggle airplanes.”

“Huh?” Draco knew that he was being inarticulate, but his confusion outweighed any of the long-ingrained Malfoy manners at the moment.

“When you ride a Muggle airplane, they always explain what to do in case of emergency. For example, if the plane lost air pressure, masks fall from the ceiling, and the passengers are instructed to place them over their face, to help them breathe. For those who are travelling with others, others who are unable to take care of themselves, the flight attendants insist that the person in charge affix their own mask first, before helping others. Do you know why they do this?” Draco shrugged, annoyed. “It’s because, as the person in charge, you need to ensure that you stay able to help others. If you’re responsible for the care of someone else, and you become unconscious due to lack of oxygen, you’ll never be able to help others. Do you see how this analogy is relevant to your circumstances?”

“I guess,” Draco said begrudgingly. 

“It’s noble that you want to help Harry. I’m so proud that your first instinct is to help him. But as your therapist, it’s my job to ensure that you’re choosing what’s best for you.”

“Maybe I am.” Draco’s voice was tight, and he felt anxiety creep up into his chest from where it normally lay coiling in his belly.

“How so?”

“It’s Harry. This is my chance to…”

“Ah. I wondered when we would discuss this.”

“It’s just that…he was always the other side of the coin. He fascinated me, how he could be so effortlessly good. How he was able to put aside what he wanted for the good of all. And he…”

“He rejected you.”

“Yes. But this could be my chance to see what it would be like to…to…have him look at me like I wasn’t worthless.”

“Draco, are you listening to yourself? If this were someone else, what would you tell them? If it were Pansy, or Blaise, and they were basing their self-worth on the conditional approval of another?”

“I’d tell them that what they thought of themselves was more important. But you don’t understand!”

“Then help me understand.”

“My judgement is flawed, Lara. I made terrible choices. I listened to my Father without question. I don’t trust myself to gauge whether I’m different. Because I was so wrong the last time. Don’t you see?”

“So you’re suggesting that you simply substitute the judgement of your Father, for that of someone else?”

“It’s Harry Potter.”

“Yes. Harry Potter, someone who had so little self-worth that he willingly marched to his death. I’m not saying that he didn’t perform a remarkable feat in facing the Dark Lord. Many people would call it brave. I’ve read the biographies, and I’ve listened to the testimonies. I can’t diagnose him from a distance like this, but at first glance, I would suggest that Albus Dumbledore taught that boy that he didn’t matter nearly enough to deserve to live. I would suggest that his actions would have been far more of a sacrifice if he’d actually valued his own life in the first place. And, ill-advised as it is to allow someone else the ability to define your self-worth, I would say that Harry Potter’s judgement is as flawed as your own. He’s the reverse of you, Draco, in that you’re correct, but while you valued yourself too much, I think he valued himself too little.”

“So maybe we both need a chance.”

“Why does this matter so much?”

“I don’t know.”

“I’d like you to consider that before we next meet, Draco. It sounds as though you’re determined to follow this through, and so I won’t spend any more time trying to convince you not to, but I really want you to question your motives. I want you to ask yourself what would happen if you reached the end of this endeavour and Harry Potter still deemed you unacceptable. What would your next course of action be?”

“I’ll think about it.” 

“Then that brings us to the end of our time together, Draco. As always, I’m available for consultation by floo as needed. I’d like you to keep your journal, and pay particular attention to the way you’re framing things.”

Draco escaped Lara’s office gratefully, and flooed home. His Mother was sitting regally on a blanket by the fire, her wand waving as she conjured a set of stars that turned into a fiery dragon. Harry clapped his hands in utter delight, his chortles filling the room with warmth. Draco watched them for a moment, recalling a similar set of stars and an equally playful dragon that she conjured for him every night as he lay in his bed as a child. When Harry spied him, he let out an excited squeak, and crawled as quickly as he could towards Draco, who patted his head a little. “Did you miss Uncle Malfoy?”

“Fuh!” 

“Do you suppose he speaks French?” Draco’s mother asked. “I could swear he is saying ‘Foi’, which, of course you know, darling, is the original pronunciation of our name. Malfoi. I think he’s trying to say your name.”

“Perhaps,” Draco allowed weakly, trying to glare at the baby, but the way he was gripping Draco’s leg and looking at him with such happiness made it impossible. 

Kreacher chose this moment to pop back into the room, and if Draco had ever thought ill of the strange little elf, he took it all back now. “Master Harry Potter is ready for his nap,” Kreacher said, and the baby all but leapt into the elf’s arms, gripping one of his batlike ears tightly. Narcissa rose gracefully, and kissed the baby on his forehead before Kreacher disappeared with him.

When his Mother, having mercifully refused tea, left via the floo, Draco returned to his lab, and conjured another rat. Several hours later, he had three dead rats, and was no closer to a solution. His head bowed in frustration, he threw the stirring rod he’d been using to test the viscosity of his latest failure, and stomped upstairs. He was surprised to find Hermione sitting with Harry on his sofa, reading to him. “What are you reading?” 

“Oh!” Hermione visibly started. “I…I hope it’s okay that I came by. Kreacher let me in.”

“Of course it’s okay. You’re Harry’s family.”

She gave him a wavering smile. “Thanks. I just needed to get away.”

“Did your court case not go well?”

“Oh,” she seemed surprised that he remembered. “No, it went fine, he was never going free, he was guilty, but I got him a lesser sentence. I just couldn’t go back to the Burrow.”

“I take it you haven’t told anyone?”

“No, I need to find some irrefutable proof first. Ron is going to flip out about this, and if I can’t appeal to the Auror in him, I’ll never convince him that his little sister is giving his best friend roofies.”

“What’s roofies?”

Hermione laughed. “It’s a Muggle drug. They call it the date rape drug. It lowers inhibitions, and makes it easy to take advantage of unsuspecting victims. That’s why you need to keep an eye on your drink in clubs.”

“Merlin,” Draco shuddered. “Glad I never go.”

“Are you seeing someone?” Hermione asked. “I sort of assumed that your parents would go the arranged marriage route, after the War ended.”

“Well, my Father was otherwise engaged, and therefore unavailable to commit me to someone, and my Mother…well. It’s complicated.”

“If you want someone to listen,” Hermione offered. She’d conjured some bright yellow birds, and they were flying just out of Harry’s reach. He was laughing, and trying to catch one. As Draco looked on, he stared at his feet for a moment, then looked back at the birds. He bounced on his heels, but, when that didn’t have the desired effect, his brow wrinkled, and he levitated off the ground a few inches, just enough to snatch one of the birds out of the air.

“Show off,” Draco accused. Harry pried open his fingers and seemed disappointed that the bird was no longer there. “At any rate, there’s not much to tell. My Mother was eager to arrange a suitable match for me, but at the same time, she’s aware that I’m not interested in women. This places her rather between a rock and a hard place, as she’s too dignified to mention my predilections, but too uncertain of her place in society to speak to another family, only to have me refuse the match completely. It means that the two of us are at a stalemate, which means I don’t have to discuss it until she gets too frustrated to be dignified. It’s win-win, really.”

“But don’t you want to find someone to spend your life with?”

“Not especially,” Draco said. “I’m fine on my own.”

“Well, that’s good, then,” Hermione said, a little uncertainly. Draco thought about saying more, but it was too complicated, too difficult, too much like admitting it to himself. After a long moment, each of them examining their thoughts and finding them too weighty to share, Hermione said, “Do you suppose we should work on the potion?”


	6. Chapter 6

“I’ve come to a dead end, with nothing but a bunch of dead rats to show for it,” Draco said, when they’d dispatched Harry to bed, and had settled in the lab.

Hermione wrinkled her nose at the rats, but obligingly summoned a scalpel. Some time later, she said, “It’s strange, isn’t it, that the magic seemed to overwhelm them.”

“Mm,” Draco agreed, his eyes on the rat cadaver in front of him.

“It’s as if the magic is too much for them.” She got up, paced the lab a moment, and then said, “Draco, do you suppose that the quantities are just too much too soon?”

“Maybe,” he allowed. “We never tested the magic levels in the rats before and after. Is it possible that the potion just overwhelms them? Burns through the magic too quickly?”

“I think it’s possible. There isn’t a lot of study of how magic develops and increases as we age. Harry is the most powerful wizard I know, and yes, he’s demonstrating powerful accidental magic, but if his magical core was as concentrated as usual, I’d expect him to blow up your flat every time he had a tantrum. His core has to be smaller now that he is. I’d never even thought of that!” She disappeared up the stairs, and returned a few minutes later. “Kreacher says that dinner is ready. And Harry’s magical core is nothing like it was.”

“You’ve measured his magical core? Before just now, I mean?” Draco asked.

“Of course I have. Lots of times. I had some theories about being the Master of Death, so I measure him every few weeks. It’s so painfully obvious, I can’t imagine why I didn’t think of it sooner.”

“So if his core is smaller, that means he’d have to give it time to grow, or else-Wait…Master of what?”

“Nothing. Never mind. Anyhow, if we don’t regrow him gradually, well, I expect he’d likely die in a flash of white like the rats did.” Hermione gave a bit of a head-toss, which made Draco remind himself to come back to the Master of Death thing later.

“So we just need to figure out how gradually,” Draco concluded.

“How do you propose we figure that out?”

“We just need to get creative. Maybe we could use a potion ingredient that is magical in nature? Plants, maybe? I don’t think that a conjured animal is giving us the right data.   
What about flobberworms?”

“Oh, yes, I suppose that will work. Seems a bit cruel though.”

“No more so than chopping them up and putting the into a cauldron,” Draco reasoned.

“Fair point. All’s fair in the name of science.”

They skipped dinner, having solicited Ron’s assistance for baby minding. He brought Rose along with him, and introduced the babies to one another. As Draco and Hermione returned to the lab, Harry was looking at Rose with great interest. “Rose, say hello to your Uncle Harry,” Ron was saying.

They were so close. It had been hours, and they’d made progress, albeit halting and with more frustration than victory. It was early, and Ron had long ago taken the children up, tucked them both into Harry’s crib, and fallen asleep himself on the couch. “One more,” Draco had said, more than once, and Hermione had started to look a little manic. Draco summoned a Pepper-Up for each of them. “This is the one,” he said, and if his tone was more desperate than decisive, Hermione didn’t call him out on it.

The Flobberworm, having been shrunken into a larvae, hadn’t exploded at the first dose, and then, three hours later, hadn’t exploded again, but had mutated into a pupae. Hermione and Draco had danced around the lab, their cheers hoarse and not a little deranged. Three hours had passed. It was time to administer the next dose. With a shaky hand, Draco allowed the tiniest drop to land on the pupae, along with a cast of water. Hermione and he slumped against the counter, eyes riveted to the insect. When the disgusting creature suddenly turned back into an adult Flobberworm, Draco thought he was imagining it, but Hermione suddenly said, “Merlin’s saggy pants. You’ve done it, Draco!”

And then they danced around the room, whooping and cheering, and Hermione flung her arms around him. Draco stilled, his entire body tense. “I’m so sorry,” Hermione said immediately. “I forgot.”

“It’s alright. I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be-”

“Draco, it’s fine. You don’t have to apologize. I forgot. Anyhow, we’ve made a breakthrough. We should get some sleep, in the morning, we can calculate the exact ratio and timing.”

“Yes, that makes sense. Go get Ron, take my bed. I’ll be up soon.”

“But Draco, you’re exhausted. We can’t possibly take your bed. I’ll just transfigure your couch,” Hermione protested.

“No, please. I insist. I’ll take the couch. I just want to have a cup of tea before bed.”

Hermione hesitated. “Are…are you sure?”

“Of course I am. Thank you for your help. Do you think that one of you could get up with Harry if he wakes up?”

“Of course! It's Ron turn to get up with Rose anyhow. He won't mind catching Harry as well.”

Hermione disappeared up the stairs, and Draco sunk to his knees on the stone floor. He breathed, in sets of three. Cleaned every single item that Hermione had touched. And remade three separate batches of the reversal potion, his brain presenting images of everyone who would suffer if he got it wrong. When he’d finished, and had scoured the lab once more, for good measure, it was five in the morning. His body ached, his eyes were gritty, and his brain had given up any sort of rational thought a few hours ago. He staggered up the stairs, checked the wards three times, stumbled to the couch. And then, when his body was so exhausted he couldn’t imagine ever getting up again, he thought about the kitchen. And how Kreacher, in his madness, might not have cleaned all the surfaces properly. Or how Ron might not have washed his hands thoroughly enough after changing one of the babies. As he heaved himself to his feet and gathered his cleaning supplies, he allowed himself the indulgence of weeping into one of the clean polishing cloths.

Hermione found him, two hours later, still scrubbing down the cabinets. “My goodness, Draco, you can’t possibly be up already! I suppose this is how you keep such a lovely clean home. Do you mind if I make coffee?”

Draco steadfastly ignored the voice clambering in his brain to warn him about what might happen to someone if the coffee pot wasn’t clean. “Sure, if you like. I’m just going to go tidy myself up a little.”

He escaped to the bathroom, took another vial of Pepper-Up from the cabinet, and showered, cleaning every part of his body with a separate portion of the flannel. As he emerged from the loo, his hair still wet, he heard little voices in the nursery. They weren’t using words, but the babies happily babbled to each other. Harry seemed shocked to find someone in his crib with him. His pudgy hand held Rose’s and he placed a disgustingly wet kiss on her cheek. She giggled and pushed him over.

Any normal person would be suffused with warmth, watching two innocent babies, safe and loved, playing carefree after a good night’s sleep. Draco watched with a terror so great he had to flee the room.

The ratios were perfect. Draco knew this. He’d checked and rechecked them so many times, that even Hermione got impatient. “But if we just trialed it on one more rat,” Draco said.

“If I leave this up to you, Harry’s going to reach his proper age on his own, through passage of time, while you ‘check your numbers’, Draco.” Hermione’s voice was filled with laughter, but her face was serious. “Why are you so hesitant?”

“Are you seriously asking me that? You can’t be forgetting what’s at stake. If I get this wrong, then Harry’s going to die.”

“You didn’t get it wrong, though. Draco, do you have any doubt how much I care about Harry’s well-being?” Draco shook his head. “And do think that if I had even the slightest reservations, I’d risk administering this potion? Harry is fine, even if he is a baby. There’s no downside to waiting and doing more research, if the situation warranted it. But it doesn’t. The reversal potion is perfect. The ratios are correct. It’s time to administer the first dose.”

“Okay,” Draco said, but his hands were tapping nervously at the table.

“Draco,” Hermione suddenly said sharply. “What do you need right now?”

Draco started, and looked closely at her. Her face was impassive. “I don’t know what you mean,” he said, his voice stiff and stilted.

“What I mean is, what does your therapist say about your anxiety? Are you comfortable sharing your treatment plan with me? I’d like to support you, but I don’t want to make things worse.”

Draco’s mouth went dry. She knew. Somehow she knew. He looked wildly toward the stairs, considering just fleeing from this.

“It’s some form of Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, right?” Hermione’s voice was matter-of-fact. Draco stared at her for as long as he could bear, and, seeing no other option, nodded.

“And you are being treated by a therapist?”

“Yes.”

“Muggle?”

“Squib. She understands about magic.”

“That’s good, Draco. When you’re troubled, what does your treatment plan suggest that you do?”

“We’re working on delaying my responses. A little bit of exposure therapy. When I’m worried that the germs in my kitchen will make someone sick, I try to wait to clean it, or sometimes, to only partially clean it. I’m not strong enough to ignore the bad thoughts, yet, but I’m working on it.”

“Okay, thank you for telling me that. I’m sorry to be so blunt, Draco, I know that this is none of my business, but I want to help.”

“It’s…thank you.”

“So right now, what is your brain telling you?”

“That I’ve deliberately miscalculated the formula, so that when I administer it to Harry, I’ll kill him.” Saying the words filled Draco with a shame so great he wanted to weep. He saw a vision of Harry, lying, tiny and still, on the floor of his lab.

“Okay. Will it help if I administer the potion?”

Draco thought about this for a moment. He wasn’t sure if it would help, but he also didn’t know how to ride out the feeling, and not giving Harry the potion wasn’t something that Hermione would stand for. “Maybe.”

And for Hermione, it was that simple. She summoned the vial of potion, and headed up the stairs. Draco followed…at least, he meant to, but found that his feet refused to move. Instead, he breathed, and counted, and tapped his fingers. The time crawled by. He wasn’t sure how long it had been, but it felt like an eternity. Soon, though, the sound of slow steps on the stairs caught his attention, and Hermione was coming down the stairs, carefully holding the hands of a messy-haired little boy.


	7. Chapter 7

“We thought we’d come downstairs and see you,” Hermione said cheerfully. “Harry, can you say hi to Draco?”

One of Harry’s thumbs went into his mouth the minute Hermione let go of his hands. He didn’t look up, but quietly whispered, “Hullo.”

“I’d like to run some scans,” Draco said. He wasn’t sure if he was telling Hermione or Harry, but the little boy looked up at him fearfully.

“No t’anks,” he said.

Draco smiled. “Harry, could you come here for a minute?” Harry hesitated, and Draco said, “Potter, now please.” He kept his voice friendly, but firm. The effect on Harry was immediate. He sighed heavily, and shuffled over. His eyes remained on the floor, thumb firmly in his mouth. Draco noticed that he was shaking. “Thank you,” Draco said softly. He crouched down and tried to catch his eyes, but Harry refused to look at him. “I know that you’re probably confused and scared now. My name is Draco, and I am going to take care of you. In order to do that, I have to make sure that you’re healthy.” He showed Harry his wand. “This is what I’m going to use to take some measurements. I won’t touch you, and it won’t hurt, not even a little bit. Will you let me try? You can say stop at any time.”

After a very, very long silence, Harry give an almost imperceptible nod. Draco cast the diagnostic spells, taking care to be especially gentle. Harry jumped a little when Draco’s magic washed over him, but otherwise didn’t move. When he was finished, Draco said, “Thank you, Harry, you did brilliantly. That was very helpful.”

“Harry, do you want to go back upstairs with Ron and Rose?” Hermione asked kindly. Harry looked at her appraisingly for a long moment, then returned his thumb to his mouth and shook his head. “You want to stay here with us?” A nod. 

“You may stay,” Draco said. “But it’s important that you don’t touch anything without asking. Can you do that?” A nod. Harry walked over to a corner of the lab, and sat on the floor, watching Draco, who was examining the results of the diagnostics. “Hermione,” he said, keeping his voice light, “come take a look?”

Hermione read over his shoulder. “He’s _three_? Draco, how? He’s so little. This doesn’t make any sense.”

“He’s malnourished. His bone density is off.” Draco’s anxiety rose. He’d known that he’d fuck up the potion. This was all his fault. He was going to produce some sort of tiny, maladjusted Harry Potter. He never should have done this. He should have sent Harry to St. Mungo’s.

“Maybe he was just a tiny kid. He was really small when we were growing up, and he’s not giant as an adult.”

“Or maybe the potion’s wrong.”

“Draco, don’t jump to that conclusion.” Hermione’s forehead was wrinkled, as though she was thinking hard, there was a connection somewhere, and she was exerting herself to make it. “I know that Harry didn’t get along with his Aunt and Uncle. I always wondered whether they were…I don’t know…neglectful. Some of the things he’d say when he was home from the summer…He always asked us to send him food for his birthday. Draco, I’m sure of it. He’s little because he’s been abused.”

“You think his relatives starved him?” Draco was horrified.

“I know that the ratios in the potion are right. And he’s so withdrawn. I mean, look at him, Draco. When was the last time you saw a three-year-old sitting so quietly?”

Draco did look. Harry sat pressed against the wall in the corner. He seemed determined to take up as little space as possible, and his wide green eyes watched them warily. He had been almost completely silent the entire time he’d been in the lab, and only acted when compelled to do. He was a lot different from his baby self. “I suppose it’s possible. It’s not like we can just go walking up to their door and ask them, though. I don’t even know how we’d find them.”

“I think we should operate under the assumption that he hasn’t been treated kindly.” Hermione said. “It means we’ll have to be careful about how we approach him. In a week or so, he’ll be old enough for us to ask him.”

“That’s true,” Draco said. “If he aged two years from the first dose, he’ll be five by the weekend. We’ll just have to tread carefully until then. I’m going to see if I can get him to take a nutrition potion though. It can’t hurt anything.”

“I think I’ll take Ron and Rose home. Something tells me that Harry will do better one on one, and he seems to feel comfortable with you.”

“Why do you say that?”

“He hasn’t taken his eyes off you since he came down here.”

Draco privately thought that this could mean any number of things. “Why don’t we ask him if he’d rather go home with you, or stay with me?”

“Good idea. Hey Harry?”

Harry cringed at the sound of his name, but he obediently swung his eyes in Hermione’s direction before immediately looking back at Draco.

“Ron and Rose and I were going to go home to our house. We have plenty of space for you, and Rose would love to play with you. Would you like to come with us?”

Harry gave her a long, thoughtful look. His tiny shoulders were tense. Hermione smiled encouragingly. Finally, he shook his head. Hermione’s smile dimmed just a little, but she said in a friendly voice, “You’d rather stay here with Draco, then?”

Harry looked at Draco then, as though he was asking permission. Draco tried to smile. “You’re welcome to stay here if you like. I will do my best to take care of you.” He secretly hoped that Harry would want to go with Hermione. He didn’t know the first thing about taking care of a small child, and this one was so fragile. Draco was certain he’d somehow end up getting Harry hurt. Harry stood then, and slowly crossed the room to where Draco was stood. Slowly, as though afraid he’d be chastised for it, he reached out a tiny hand and took Draco’s.

“Well, there’s our answer,” Hermione said cheerfully. “We’ll be back to see you all tomorrow, if that’s okay with you Draco?”

“Of course.”

“We’re just a floo away if you need anything.” Hermione wrapped her arms around Harry, who stiffened and gasped, but, just as she was about to pull away, leaned into the hug with a little sigh. Draco’s eyes caught Hermione’s anguished look. It was like he’d never been hugged before. “See you later, darling,” she said, her voice a little thick, as she kissed Harry’s forehead.

He watched her leave with a look of dazzled wonder and then his wide eyes met Draco’s. “I never quite know what to think when she’s been here either,” Draco confided, and Harry’s lips quirked around his thumb in almost a smile. “Are you hungry?” Draco asked, and Harry’s head tilted to one side as he appraised Draco. “It’s just that, I haven’t had any lunch yet, and Kreacher always makes so much. I was hoping you could help me eat some.”

“Harry help,” Harry said in a whisper, but the look of fear on his face suggested that he thought that this might be some sort of prank.

“That’s brilliant,” Draco said. “Let’s go see what Kreacher has to say.”

Kreacher, it turned out, had rather a lot to say. He was positively aghast at how thin Harry was, and tried to slam his head in the oven door until Draco made him stop. He muttered some, about how ‘the little Master would be eating his good food that his good elf made’. Harry watched the whole scene unfold with horror. “Do you remember Kreacher, Harry?”

Harry looked at the elf, complex emotions crossing his face. He looked as though he was about to say something once or twice, but eventually just shrugged helplessly.

“Well, Kreacher is your…very special friend,” Draco said, the latter part coming out a bit lamely. He was reasonably sure that the original three-year-old Harry had never seen a House Elf, living with Muggles, and he didn’t fancy trying to explain the complicated relationship between a family and its Elves. “He is here to help you with anything you need, and to keep you safe. His magic is incredibly powerful, and he’ll do all sorts of fun things with you.”

“Magic,” Harry said.

“Yes, Kreacher is Magical, just like you and I,” Draco explained. Harry seemed confused by this, but, uncertain about how much a toddler could understand, Draco didn’t bother explaining.

Kreacher popped back into the room, plates piled high with chicken nuggets and steaming chips. He set one of the plates in front of Harry before doing the same for Draco. Harry goggled at the food. “For Harry?” His voice was gravelly and quiet. 

“Yes, of course. All for Harry. And more, I suppose, if you can manage to finish that much.”

Kreacher returned with a crisp white linen napkin, and as he bent down to tie it around Harry’s neck, the child flinched as though expecting to be struck. “‘M Sorry!” Before Draco could react, Harry had disappeared under the table.

Kreacher looked gobsmacked. In order to forestall a vigorous bout of self-punishment, Draco said hastily, “Thank you Kreacher, we’re fine. No need to punish yourself, just go back to Grimmauld for a bit. Get things tidied up for Master Harry when he returns.”

“Of course, Master Draco,” Kreacher said, and popped away with a loud crack.

Draco leaned under the table. He found Harry huddled in a tight ball, hands clapped over his head, rocking back and forth. “Bad Harry, Freak Harry,” he muttered.

“You seem like you are feeling upset,” Draco said, unconsciously using a phrase that Lara used all the time, when the anxiety was too great for him to speak. 

A pair of tear-filled eyes met his. “Sorry,” Harry whispered.

“Do you think you’ve done something wrong?”

“Bad Harry.”

“You haven’t, you know. Done anything wrong, that is. Kreacher wasn’t trying to hurt you. He wanted to keep that nice sweater clean. He was putting a napkin on you.”

Harry looked down at his sweater. “No hits?”

“No hits. We don’t hit anyone here, Harry. Nobody is going to hurt you here. And if you get scared about something, it’s okay to ask. You’re safe. I don’t make promises easily, Harry, but I promise I’ll keep you safe.” Harry considered this, but continued to watch Draco warily. “I’d really like some company while I eat my lunch. Do you think you could show me how well you eat? Do you think you could eat two chicken nuggets?” Harry finally nodded, and awkwardly climbed into the chair again. He eyed his plate skeptically, and looked to Draco, but when Draco simply took his knife and fork and started to eat, he carefully reached out and took a chip. He examined it for a long time, and watched Draco some more. “It’s good. I’d like you to try it,” Draco said conversationally. When Harry finally started eating, Draco considered it a victory, even if one tiny hand gripped the edge of the plate as though afraid someone would snatch it away.

Overall, Draco reflected to himself, they’d had more successes than failures. Draco hadn’t been able to convince himself to give Harry a bath…the voices in his head had clamoured insistently at the notion, but Kreacher had been happy to do so the following morning, and Harry had, the elf reported, ‘enjoyed the bubbles’.

There’d been a tiny hiccup when on the first night, after spelling a set of pyjamas onto the boy, a miscommunication had occurred. Draco had said that it was time for bed, and then a few minutes of incredible confusion occurred, when Harry seemed determined to sleep in a closet, and Draco had been equally convinced that his bed was a better spot. Harry had ultimately been persuaded, and, as Draco pulled the duvet up over his shoulders, Harry had patted the covers in wonder. “For Harry? Harry bed?”

“Yes, of course it’s your bed,” Draco had said, still utterly confused, but Harry had simply turned over with a happy sigh and fallen asleep. The following night, Harry had given a dubious look at the closet before toddling over and climbing into bed.

There had been another, less confusing but equally tragic moment on the first night, when Harry had awoken screaming again. Draco had torn into the room, heart pounding. Harry wasn’t properly awake, but was sobbing, “Sorry, sorry,” Draco sat on the edge of the bed, uncertain whether to wake the child or not, but, after arguing with his unresponsive arm for a few minutes, had managed to awkwardly rub Harry’s back. Harry had stilled for a moment, gone silent, and blinked sleepy eyes up at Draco. 

“You’re okay,” Draco confirmed. “You’re safe.” Harry sighed, and fell back to sleep, seeming no worse for wear the following day, but Draco had pondered it long after returning to his bed, and sleep was slow to come. What could such a tiny child have to be sorry for?

Ultimately, though, Harry had coped well with his new circumstances. He was still very quiet and withdrawn, and tended to shy away from new situations and people…the Weasley-Grangers had caused him to hide in a corner for over an hour. The true success, however, had been late on the second afternoon, when Draco had been conjuring wisps of coloured smoke that whirled and danced around the room. One had taken the form of a hippogriff, and when it bowed low in front of Harry, he’d reached his hand out and smiled. It was the first time Draco had seen anything other than a frown or a blank, stoic face, since Harry had turned three.

Now, it was the third day, and it was time to administer the next dose. Draco was hopeful that five-year-old Harry would be a bit more communicative. Speaking of, Hermione and Ron appeared through the floo, Rose bouncing in Ron’s arms. “Hiya Harry!” Ron was cheerful, and Harry looked at him cautiously. He had grown slightly more convinced of his relative safety, and less hesitant to respond to people, so long as the people were Draco, and Kreacher, and occasionally, Hermione. When Ron spoke to him, Harry was inclined to hide his face behind his hands. He ignored Rose completely.

“Harry,” Draco said gently. “Do you remember why Ron and Hermione are here today?” Harry shook his head. “They’re here to help me give you a potion to help you grow big. It's a bit like medicine, but when you’re done, you’re going to have grown quite a bit. You can have the potion in your room, or down in my lab. Which do you prefer?”

Harry remained silent, lacking the vocabulary to communicate his preference, which, Draco suspected was ‘don’t have the potion and be left alone’. “How about in your room?” Hermione suggested. Harry considered this, and nodded resignedly. Draco trailed after Hermione and Harry. He didn’t want to go with them at all, but Harry kept looking back at him, as if to reassure himself that Draco was coming.

“Just lie on your bed, pet,” Hermione said, popping open the potions vial.

Harry clambered up, patting the duvet gently and saying “Harry bed,” something he’d done every single time he saw the thing. Draco hadn’t the faintest idea why Harry was so delighted with it. It was a perfectly normal bed. It didn’t even have posts or curtains. Nevertheless, Harry was looking at them expectantly, and, with a slightly fearful look.

He wasn’t sure what to expect when he carefully dropped two precise drops of potion onto Harry’s neck, and cast the gentle Aguamenti, but Harry's tiny body going rigid and his eyes rolling backward wasn’t it. “Jesus! Jesus Fuck!” Draco cried, alarmed.

“That didn’t happen last time!” Hermione said defensively.

“What do we do?”

“Draco, he’s not breathing,” Hermione muttered, lifting Harry’s little t-shirt and bending her head to his chest.

“Apneo! Fuck, fuck, Harry, Apneo, damnit!” Draco had a good deal of experience with panic, but at this moment, he felt that his body was nothing but panic. As though his organs, and skin and bones had been suffused by terror.

His frantic spell casting seemed to help though, because Harry gasped a breath. His eyes were still blurry and unfocused, though, and his body remained rigid. Draco’s panic reached a frenzied peak, however when, with a tiny tremble, his body started to change. It started at his feet, the tiny socked toes lengthening and thickening, and the change extended to his ankles, and up his legs. Beneath his t-shirt, Draco could see his ribs expand, and then his shoulders, and ankles, before his face altered in front of Draco’s eyes. Later, Draco would be unable to articulate exactly what changed, but as he watched, the baby-soft innocence disappeared. He was still innocent-looking, but his eyes, in particular, obtained a more adult quality. It was deeply creepy, Draco decided.

When his body had finished changing, Draco wanted nothing more than to run away. That was, frankly, the most terrifying experience he’d ever lived through. More terrifying, even, than the sight of the adult Potter’s still body being carried back from the Forbidden Forest (Draco didn’t bother exploring why he still called the adult version Potter, while the child remained Harry) and the notion that he’d failed, and the Dark Lord had won. Somehow, this tiny child under Draco’s care, still and unbreathing, was so much worse. Draco’s breath was coming in painful gasps and his entire body trembled. Hermione took one look at him, and at Harry’s tiny form, and said, “Draco, go. I’ll get him into some bigger clothes, and we’ll see you soon to cast the diagnostics.”

Draco fled, to his lab, where things were predictable, and safe. He placed his head on the cool marble of the worktable, and counted his breaths. Eventually, the trembling ceased, and his breathing was more stable. He considered, for a moment, firecalling Lara, but ever since their last session together, he’d felt unable to ask for her help. She didn’t approve of what he was doing, and so he had to deal with the consequences himself. That he wasn’t sure how to deal with said consequences made little difference. The jangly, unsettled feeling roiling through his belly increased. He was alone, and he had to somehow deal with the stupid choices he was making, the danger he was exposing innocent people to…

And, just like three days earlier, the sound of footsteps on the stairs forced his head up, and he looked at Hermione and Harry as they entered the lab. Harry was taller, still quite thin, and was being reluctantly prodded along by Hermione. “Hullo, Mr. Malfoy,” he said quietly.


	8. Chapter 8

The incongruence of being called ‘Mr. Malfoy’ by someone whose nappies Draco had changed, well, nearly changed, struck him. “Why don’t you call me Draco,” he invited. Harry nodded. Draco plunged on, a little desperately. “Do you remember that I cast a spell on you a few days ago?” Another nod. “I’m going to do the same thing now.”

The results, were, if anything, more discouraging than they were three days ago. Harry was five years old, even though he was terribly malnourished, and his body bore traces of some suspicious injuries. Nothing especially ominous, but a dislocated shoulder, and a large scar on his belly, which the scans helpfully pointed out were from a badly ruptured appendix. He was in the fourth percentile for height and weight, which was supported by the fact that he was still tiny. Draco didn’t spend a lot of time with five-year-olds, but even he could see that Harry was smaller than he ought to be.

Draco resolved to ask some more specific questions about Harry’s Muggle relatives, but decided that this might not be the right time. He motioned to a stool, next to him, and Harry awkwardly climbed up. He sat, swinging his legs a little, before he noticed Draco watching him, and quickly stopped. “I imagine this must be confusing,” Draco said, after a while of mutual scrutiny.

Harry shrugged. “I don’t know why you guys kidnapped me, but it’s not so bad,” he said.

Draco cast a wild look at Hermione, who was staring back, equally baffled. “Kidnapped? Harry, nobody kidnapped you.”

He gave Draco a look of such adult wryness that Draco nearly laughed. “I know about strangers,” he said with a defiant little glare, “and that’s what you are.”

“Harry,” Hermione tried, “we actually know you quite well. You’re our friend.”

“I’ve never had a friend steal me before,” Harry replied.

“We didn’t steal you,” Draco said, a little stung. “This whole stupid mess was _your_ fault!” Harry raised his eyebrows, but looked hurt. “Okay, fine, Potter,” Harry’s shoulders slumped at the use of his last name. “Harry. This might seem a little hard to imagine, but there was a potions incident-”

‘What’s a potion?” Harry interrupted.

“What’s a…Harry,” Draco said, a sudden sinking feeling joining the usual roiling anxiety in his belly, “how much do you know about magic?”

“Magic’s not real,” he said firmly, looking extremely uncomfortable.

“Of course it’s real,” Draco said. “Do you mean to tell me that your Muggles never told you that you were a Wizard? Or Dumbledore?”

“What’s a Dumbledore?”

Hermione, thank Merlin, jumped in to help here, and gave Harry a painstakingly thorough revisiting of the conversation that, no doubt, she’d had at eleven, when the Hogwarts Board Member visited her parents. It was standard practice, Draco knew, to introduce Muggleborn wizards to their world. Draco’s father had complained often enough about having to take his turn.

Harry listened patiently to Hermione’s lecture, and explanation of the incident that had led to his de-aging. When, mercifully, she ran out of steam, Harry gave them both a look. “You’re nutters,” he proclaimed. It took several demonstrations of magic, a tour of the potions lab, and an examination of Draco’s wand before Harry was convinced. Alarmingly, when handed Draco’s wand, Harry gave it a masterful flourish, and the ensuring sparks it emitted sent an entire rack of vials flying, causing Harry to let out a whimper, drop the wand and disappear under the table.

“Oh,” Hermione said. “It recognized him.”

“What?” Draco’s voice sounded a bit more unhinged than he liked it to. “What recognized him?”

“Your wand. From…” She didn’t finish, but Draco knew instantly what she meant. Without prompting, his mind deposited him into a hall at Malfoy Manor, and a tense standoff with his Aunt Bella, and his wand disappearing with a puffy-faced boy. Draco didn’t like to think about what happened when Potter and his friends had disappeared.

“Oh, of course, I should have thought of that,” he muttered. “Harry? Come out, it’s okay.” He summoned his wand, and fixed the broken vials. “See? It’s all better. You’re safe. You aren’t in trouble.” When Harry didn’t emerge, Draco kneeled and peered under the worktable. Harry’s eyes looked so…adult, as though he’d seen this before, and knew what came next. “Come on, wouldn’t you like some hot cocoa? I would.”

As though expecting punishment, Harry cautiously emerged, his back hunched. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I didn’t know that would happen.”

“Of course you didn’t, you just learned magic existed five minutes ago. Come on,” Draco wanted to extend his hand, but his arm wouldn’t obey his mind’s orders. With the mental shrug of someone who was quite used to uncooperative appendages, Draco said “Come, Harry.”

They managed, well enough, during the day. Harry remained fairly quiet, but answered when spoken to, and played a few rounds of Exploding Snap with Ron. He didn’t seem to like the way the cards exploded, and he seemed to shrink into himself a little when Ron’s voice got loud, but it was fine.

Later that night, when Ron and Hermione had taken Rose home to put her to bed, Draco suggested that Harry put on his pyjamas, and they could have more hot cocoa before bedtime. Harry had seemed to enjoy the cocoa earlier, and Draco really didn’t know what else to do with him. When Harry had put on the pyjamas that Kreacher had set out for him, (these ones had Crups running all over them), he returned to the sitting room. His hair was a wild mass of strange peaks, and his feet were bare. “Are your feet chilly?” Draco asked. “I can cast a warming charm on them.”

Harry shook his head, and looked at him for a long time before he spoke. “How come I’m here?”

“I don’t understand.”

“Why are you taking care of me? Why aren’t I with my Aunt and Uncle?”

“Oh,” Draco said, unsure how to answer. “Well, we didn’t want to worry anybody, so we’re keeping you here as a secret.”

Harry got a look on his face that Draco recognized from long ago at Hogwarts. “Why would I need to be a secret?”

“Well, it’s not very common for people to suddenly become babies. We wanted to give you privacy.”

“But, wouldn’t I have more privacy at Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunias? They don’t even know that magic is real.”

“I suppose you would have been, but I didn’t know how to get in touch with them.”

“Isn’t Hermione my friend? And Ron? I’m sure they’d know how to reach them.”

“Harry, do you want to go to your Aunt and Uncles? I assumed you were doing okay here, but we can-”

“No!” Harry’s voice sounded alarmed. “No, no, I want to stay. It just seemed strange to get to stay with you. Are we good friends, when I’m a grown up?”

“Yes of course,” Draco said, and then immediately wanted to obliviate Harry, and himself. Why had he been so stupid? Of course when Harry got older he’d remember that they weren’t friends. He was such an idiot.

“Well, that’s good then,” Harry said. “I bet we’re best friends.”

Draco figured that this was as good a time as any to ask some questions of his own. “Harry, what was it like with your Aunt and Uncle?”

Harry looked away. “Fine.”

“Is it? You didn’t seem like you wanted to go there.”

“I like it here,” Harry demurred, but he was tense.

“Harry,” Draco kept his voice soft, “what do they do to you?”

“Nothing, it’s fine!”

“I had an aunt,” Draco said, conversationally, “and she wasn’t very nice to me. Horrible, actually.”

“You did?”

“I did. And it took me a long time to realize that it wasn’t my fault. She didn’t hurt me because I was bad, or deserved it or anything.”

“What happened to her? The Aunt?”

“Oh,” Draco said, “she died, actually.” Draco chose not to expand on that, unable to find a way to explain that it was Harry’s surrogate mother who had killed her.

“I’m glad she can’t hurt you anymore.”

“Me too,” Draco said. “I’m glad you’re safe too.” Harry gave him a long look at that.

“Well,” he finally said, “since we’re best friends, I’ll tell you, but you can’t tell anyone else. Promise?”

With a sense of dread, Draco said, “I promise.”

“They hate me. They hate me so much.” His little shoulders sagged as he confessed, and his eyes lost their sparkle for a moment. 

Draco wanted to ask more, but instead simply said, “Thank you for telling me that. You won’t have to see them ever again. They can’t hurt you anymore either. I promised I’d keep you safe here.”

“And a promise is a promise,” Harry said faintly. The words obviously held some sort of deeper meaning to him. He was unsure how to respond, when Harry suddenly asked brightly, “So, do you have a dog?”

“A dog? No, I don’t," Draco answered, a little mystified at where the conversation was going.

“Why not? The first thing I’d do when I got big was to get a dog. Wait, do _I_ have a dog? As a grown up?”

“No, I think maybe your work keeps you too busy for a dog. Why would you want a dog?”

“Because,” Harry looked at him as though he were very stupid. “A dog would keep me safe. And, I could talk to it, and if I had a bad dream I could stroke it. Why _wouldn’t_ I want a dog?”

The next day, Narcissa arrived to stay with Harry while Draco went to see Lara. “Harry, do you remember my mum?”

“You’re beautiful,” Harry gasped. “You’re like a beautiful queen!”

Draco’s mum smiled. “Thank you, Harry, that’s a lovely thing to say.”

“And you’re going to be here with me? Just you and me?” Harry looked awestruck, and Draco smiled. Sometimes, when he was Harry’s age, he looked at his parents with exactly the same sense of wonder. As though they were the beginning and ending of it all, and Draco was the luckiest person alive to be theirs. 

“I’ll be going,” Draco said, but Harry didn’t even look his way. Narcissa waved her fingertips at him, but continued smiling down at Harry.

Lara seemed to have backed off somewhat on criticizing Draco’s plan to keep Harry until he was big again. “I wonder if you’ve thought any of what I said to you the last time we met.”

He hadn’t, actually. He’d been busy taking care of Harry. “Some, I guess.”

“And has the distance given you any insight?”

“Not really. I still think that this is the right thing to do. He seems shocked that someone would take him in, actually. I think his Muggles abused him.”

“It’s possible. I don’t really want to talk about Harry though. He’s welcome to come to me for treatment if he likes.”

“But how can I help him? If I wanted to, I mean.”

“I think it’s clear that you want to. What I’m more interested in is why you want to so much.”

“He saved us all.”

“He did. Do you think you owe him?”

“I…Yes, I suppose so. We all do, a bit.”

“And yet he’s not staying in anyone else’s spare room.”

“He made me a better person.”

Lara lost her temper a little. “He _didn’t_ , Draco. You worked hard, and you managed to reevaluate the lessons you’d been taught, and you learned to define things differently. Harry Potter didn’t do that for you.”

“Maybe,” Draco said, not convinced. 

And Lara seemed to decide to poke that particular Hippogriff later, because she moved the conversation smoothly along to Draco’s compulsions. Draco was surprised to realize that he really hadn’t been indulging them much over the past week, but he figured that potion-making and all the arithmancy, and taking care of Harry had used up a lot of his normal compulsion time.

“Did you experience any especially difficult situations?”

“Well, just one.”

“Would you like to talk about it?”

“Well, you know how being touched, or touching others is a bit of a trigger for me?”

“Yes,”

“I don’t think that Harry was hugged very much.”

“Oh?”

“Neither was I…It wasn’t done, you see. It wasn’t dignified. I knew my parents loved me, but they didn't touch me much.”

“Do you think that the lack of physical affection was harmful to you?”

“No. Maybe. I’ve never…”

“Draco, what’s troubling you?”

“I haven’t ever touched anyone, other than incidentally. I’ve never intentionally given or received any sort of…”

“I see. When you were in school, you never held hands with anyone? You didn’t date?”

“I dated, in a way. It was expected that I would marry Pansy Parkinson.”

“But you never kissed her, or gave her a hug?”

“No. It wasn’t allowed. I would have ruined her marriage prospects.”

“But if she was going to marry you…”

“Well, I was never going to marry her. It was the one thing that I couldn’t give my parents. I just couldn’t marry her.”

“Were you not compatible?”

“I couldn’t imagine touching her, and if I hadn’t produced an heir, it would ruin Pansy’s life, ruin my family's reputation.”

“Draco, are you gay?”

“I am.” It had never come up before in their sessions, and, before Hermione, he’d never told anyone. His Father would be horrified. But, his Father was locked in Azkaban. His Father had made so many terrible choices, and had put Draco and his Mother in danger.

“And how do you feel about that?”

“Surprisingly, I think I might feel alright about it. My Father…”

“He wouldn’t have approved?”

“No. But I’m not sure I care.”

“Excellent, Draco. That’s amazing progress. I wondered, though, what does this have to do with Harry?”

“Pardon?” Draco felt a sudden pang of anxiety ripple through his belly.

“Well, it’s just interesting that the conversation travelled from Harry’s lack of affectionate touches as a child, to that of your sexuality.”

“I…” Draco was appalled. “I would never touch a child like that!”

“I wasn’t suggesting that you would, Draco. What made you think that I was?”

“I don’t know.”

“May I see if I can restate your thought process? I’d like to validate that I understand you.”

“I suppose.”

“You pointed out that you’d never been given physical affection as a child, and noted that Harry hadn’t either. You mentioned that your adolescence was stilted by your inability to confront your sexual orientation. I wonder if you worry that your attraction to Harry in his adult form will somehow create a compulsion to take advantage of him. I wonder if your opinion that you ‘can’t be trusted’ somehow extends to your fear that if you touch him, that someone will interpret it incorrectly, or that you will truly do something reprehensible.”

Hearing Lara say his thoughts out loud was a jarring experience. It made them seem all at once ridiculous and also somehow more real. “I never said I was attracted to Harry.”

“Are you?”

“He and I have been enemies since I was eleven years old. There have been times in my life where I truly despised him.”

“And more recently. Think of the last time that you saw him, before this happened.”

Draco did so. It was at a party at Luna and Neville Longbottom’s house. Draco and Luna had grown close after the war, when Draco had sent her a letter of apology for her imprisonment in their Dungeons. It was her birthday, and despite his misgivings, Draco had agreed to stop by. The moment he’d stepped through the floo, Draco had been hit by a wall of laughter, conversation, music. It was jarring, and, as he spelled the soot from his robes, he took a few deep breaths to get his bearings. It was then that he’d seen Potter, standing in the spacious kitchen, his eyes bright, laughing with Neville. For a moment, Potter looked so young, and he was completely free of the normal tension he seemed to carry with him. In all their years at Hogwarts, Harry had seemed like a coiled spring, wary and looking for danger around every corner. Somehow, that defensive posture had fallen away, and Draco wondered for a moment what Potter would have been like, free of all of the expectations of being the Boy who Lived. _Beautiful_ , Draco thought to himself, and the thought was so jarring that he hastily found himself a corner to retreat into, and breathed slowly until he’d gotten himself under control.

He didn’t want to admit it to Lara. His housemates had teased him back at Hogwarts, implying that Draco’s obsession with besting Potter suggested more than a rivalry. Blaise in particular had often drawled, “Oh why don’t you just shag him and spare us all the angst?” But Draco knew that deliberately holding back information interfered with his recovery, and he trusted Lara. “Yes, I suppose I did fancy him.”

“And when you look at Harry now, a defenseless child, what do you feel?”

“I want to protect him. I want to see him smile.”

“So, you feel very different things for the child and the adult, wouldn’t you say?”

“Yes…” _But what if I screw this up?_

“At some point, Draco, you need to trust yourself. I don’t for a moment believe that you harbour inappropriate sexual feelings for the five-year-old child in your care. All of my reservations about you caring for him have been the impact that it would have on your recovery. His safety has never, in my opinion, been at risk. Let me put it to you this way…Have you ever wanted to hex Harry? Either in school or since then?”

“I tried to crucio him the night he nearly killed me.” 

“And have you ever, even for a moment, considered hexing the child that’s in your home now?”

“Of course not!” Draco was horrified at the notion.

“There you have it. You seem to have no trouble in separating the child who needs protecting from the man who draws conflicting emotions. I honestly don’t think you need to worry about this, Draco. That’s my professional opinion as well as my personal one. I still think that you’re needlessly making your recovery difficult, but I trust your judgement. If this is the right thing for you, then I support you.”

And that, it seemed, was that. Lara trusted him. Draco marvelled at the notion, as Lara continued, “And don’t worry too much about whether you’re able to provide physical affection to Harry. He won’t suffer without it, at least, no more than he did the first time around. Trust your judgement, do what feels right, and call me if you need me.”

As Draco stepped toward the floo, Lara said, “Draco? You should be very proud of everything you’ve accomplished.”


	9. Chapter 9

Lara’s statement so unnerved Draco that he flooed to his lab instead of to his living quarters. He stood in the lab, the sterile order soothing him, and then climbed the stairs. He could hear Harry saying, in a worried voice, “…but you’re sure he’s going to come back?” With a little smile, Draco lingered outside the sitting room to listen.

“Yes, Harry. I am absolutely sure that Draco will come back. He likes having you here.”

“And you’re his mummy, so he will always come back to you. That's what I'd do if I had a mum, and Draco's the smartest person in the whole world, so that's what he'd do too.”

“Yes, but he will come back to you as well, Harry.”

“Because we’re best friends. Just in case, I’m going to stay close to you. So he doesn’t forget about me.”

Narcissa laughed, “Oh darling, I don’t think that Draco could ever forget about you. He certainly didn’t when you were children together.”

“Yes, well, that’s what best friends do.”

“Did Draco tell you that? About the two of you being best friends?”

“Yes. I told him that I thought we must be. Because I’m here staying with him. I’m going to try really hard though. I’ll be an even better friend this time, Draco’s mum.”

“You can call me Narcissa, if you like.”

“Draco is so lucky,” Harry breathed, and Narcissa laughed again.

When Draco was tucking Harry in, he watched with amusement as Harry fondly patted the bedsheets before climbing inside. “Harry, why do you like this bed so much?”

“I’ve never tried one before,” he answered guilelessly. “It’s so much better than a cot in a cupboard.”

Draco felt his heart break a little, but he said, “Well, you’ll have one from now on.”

Harry’s smile was brilliant. “You’re so good,” he said in wonder. “I’m so lucky. Did my cousin Dudley go to magic school?”

“No, he was a Muggle, as far as I know. Why?”

“Well, my cousin Dudley usually beats people up when they’re nice to me. I don’t think he can hurt you, but I don’t want to take the chance.”

“I don’t think that Dudley will be able to beat me up.”

“Oh, good.” Harry looked relieved. His little face was earnest. “I’ve never had a friend before, Draco. You’re…you’re amazing.” 

And suddenly Draco understood why Lara wasn’t in favour of this plan. Seeing Harry’s eyes full of hero worship, his shy expression fixated on the first person in his life that had been the slightest bit fucking _decent_ to him, Draco felt as if he were coming apart at the seams. It was going to be so much harder when Harry was big again, and remembered why he hated Draco. But maybe it was a kindness, he thought, to let a lonely boy believe that he had a best friend who was taking care of him. Draco wasn’t sure which one of them he was referring to.

Hermione and Ron weren’t able to come for the next dose of potion, and so it was Draco and Harry, alone in Draco’s lab. “I can’t wait to see how big I get,” Harry said shyly. He’d been getting a little braver each day, had stopped cringing as though Draco would hit him. Yesterday, he’d looked as though he was about to take Draco’s hand, but he pulled away at the last minute, leaving Draco simultaneously relieved and a bit disappointed. He’d had to clean the kitchen for a few hours after that.

And, a couple of drops later, followed by the terrifying bout of not breathing, and casting _Apneo_ , and the stretching, he was bigger, a bit, anyway, and squinting at Draco in a way that made him know exactly how old Harry was when he got his glasses. Draco pulled Harry’s glasses from the cupboard where he’d placed them, along with his wand and his Auror robes. After the glasses were shrunken to an appropriate size, Harry owlishly blinked a little, then smiled up at Draco. “Is that my stuff?” 

“Yes,” Draco answered absently, examining the results of his diagnostic charm with concern. Still bloody malnourished, and a host of other injuries. As he helped him into a larger t-shirt, Draco couldn’t help but notice the little scars and bruises dotting his back. “Where did you get these bruises, Harry?”

“Dudley and Uncle Vernon,” Harry said distractedly. “Can I look at my robes? And my wand?”

“You may,” Draco said, “but please be careful with the wand.”

“I know. I remember last time. Did you come with me when I got my wand?”

“No, I think that Hagrid did.”

“Who’s Hagrid?”

“How about this,” Draco said, realizing that they were going to continue peppering questions at one another, not bothering to properly answer each other. “You can look at your robes and wand, and then you will answer some questions honestly for me, okay?”

“I guess. After that, can I ask you more questions?”

“You may.”

Harry examined his robes with reverence. “They’re beautiful,” he said, running a finger on the silver piping. “Do I wear these every day?”

“No, I wouldn’t imagine so. I think that quite a lot of the time, you wear battling wear. Dragonhide pants, spellproof vest, that sort of thing. These are used for when you have meetings, to be in court, or at ceremonies.”

“Maybe sometimes I wear them just to look nice. I wish I could try them on.”

“You’ll fit them soon enough,” Draco said, and felt a little pang of something at the idea that soon Harry would be an adult, and would be leaving.

“Now my wand,” Harry said eagerly.

“Alright,” Draco said, “but remember…”

“I will. I’ll never forget that, I was so scared.”

“Were you?” Draco asked, suddenly sad. The first time a Wizard held a wand should be completely joyous. He was disappointed that it wasn’t that way for Harry.

“Well, not at first. At first, it was the strangest feeling. Like the wand knew me. Like it was an old friend, saying hello. Then I nearly knocked your house down, and I got scared.”

“Of course it would recognize you,” Draco said without thinking. He was remembering again. A misshapen face, terrified green eyes, the terrible sense of pressure from his parents, desperate for him to recognize Potter, to turn him over to the Dark Lord, and everything would be forgiven. Knowing, with a sick lurch in his stomach, that it was Potter, and that Draco would never be able to turn him in. Draco heard a roaring in his ears, and didn’t notice that he’d fallen to his knees until he felt the sharp pain of his kneecaps striking the hard floor. He counted breaths and recounted them, and the world was getting smaller, and darker, and Draco was dying.

A pair of small cold hands on his cheeks startled him out of his impending panic. “Draco?” Frightened green eyes peered at him from behind his spectacles. “Draco, are you okay? I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to remind you of what I did.”

Draco gasped in a breath, and then another. He felt a cool trickle of sweat run down his spine. His hands were trembling. “No,” he managed to say croakily, “’s’not that. I just had another…It’s nothing you did, Harry. We’re safe. You’re fine.”

“You’re not fine. What do you need?”

“Nothing. N-nothing. Are you okay? Are you fine?”

“Um, yes, Draco, I’m fine.” Harry seemed to understand the crippling need behind Draco’s question. Somehow, he intuitively knew that Draco needed to be reassured. “See Draco? Look at me. I’m fine, I’m here talking to you, and I’m smiling at you, look. Do you see me smiling?”

Unexpectedly, Draco felt the waves of fear receding some. He looked closely at Harry. “You’re fine,” he said, his voice shaking.

“Yep, I’m fine. We’re safe. A promise is a promise.” Harry’s smile was brilliant. Very slowly and gently, Harry raised his hand and touched Draco’s cheek. “It’s okay, Draco, I’ll take care of you.”

Unexpected tears prickled the back of Draco’s throat. He wanted to reassure Harry, to thank him for his kindness, but he could only blink hard, wordless. Harry watched him closely, then reached out his hand. “Draco? Could we have some cocoa?” Draco nodded, and Harry gave him an encouraging look, then took a few steps toward the stairs. He turned back, to make sure that Draco was following him, and when he confirmed that he was, Harry’s smile was like a sunrise.

"Harry," Draco said, as Harry regarded him over the rim of his mug. "What do you mean, when you say, 'A promise is a promise'?"

Harry's lips quirked a little. "It means that when you promise something, it always comes true. It's something Aunt Petunia always says. Like, she'll say, 'You freakish boy, if you burn those chops again, I promise it will be a week with no dinner, and a promise is a promise!' And then it _always_ happens like she says. Promises are super important, Draco."

The following morning, Draco awoke to raised voices, and raced out of his room, wand in the air, and terror in his belly. He was surprised to find Kreacher and Harry engaged in a spirited standoff in the kitchen. “It isn’t proper, Master Harry,” Kreacher was begging, his gravelly voice betraying his discomfort.

“Kreacher, please,” Harry begged. “I’m good at it, I promise!”

“What’s going on?” Draco asked. He was still uncomfortable at the way he'd lost his composure during his panic attack the day before, and didn’t really know how to get past it.

“Kreacher won’t let me-” Harry said, at the same time that Kreacher said, “Master Harry isn’t letting-”.

“Stop,” Draco said firmly. “Harry, what are you trying to do?”

Harry had a familiar, mutinous expression that somehow looked adorable when on the face of a seven year old. “I just wanted to make you breakfast,” he said, his eyes on the floor.

“It isn’t being proper, Master Harry,” Kreacher pleaded.

“Why do you want to make breakfast, Harry?”

“To earn my keep,” Harry said, giving Draco a look that suggested he was simple for not understanding.

“You don’t need to earn your keep, Harry, Merlin. You’re seven!”

“But…” Harry’s lips trembled a little. “I just…”

“What, Harry?” Draco knelt down next to the boy, and suddenly, there was a number of crashing noises, as every glass in the cupboards shattered.

“I’m sorry,” Harry cried, and the tears that had been threatening spilled down his cheeks. He looked horrified, and spun, running from the room before Draco or Kreacher could respond.

“Kreacher, it’s okay,” Draco said warningly. “You’re not to punish yourself.”

“Kreacher is upsetting the little Master,” he said, his face anguished.

“He just doesn’t understand,” Draco said. “I’ll explain it to him. It will be okay. You mustn't punish yourself, and that's an order.”

When Draco entered Harry’s bedroom, he was surprised to find it empty. He peered under the bed, and checked the loo, but there was no sign of him. Suddenly grateful for his excess of caution, Draco praised his earlier self for casting a tracking charm on Harry. “Point me, Harry Potter,” he said, and his wand spun like a compass to the closet, where, sure enough, he found a huddled little figure hiding inside. “Hello,” Draco said mildly. A little snuffling breath was Harry’s only response. “Can you tell me why you’re upset?”

“Please don’t send me back to the Dursley’s,” Harry said softly.

“I wouldn’t ever, I told you that, Harry. You can stay here as long as you like, and if you wanted to leave, the Weasleys would take you in a heartbeat.”

“But why? If I don’t earn my keep, and I make stuff break. Why would you want to keep me?”

“Oh, Harry. I need to tell you something really important,” Draco said. “Your Aunt and Uncle were wrong about a lot of things. Little boys shouldn’t have to make breakfasts, and they should have a nice comfortable bed to sleep in. And,” Draco said firmly, “they shouldn’t ever be hit or treated roughly.” A little indrawn breath confirmed Draco’s suspicion. 

“But I’m a freak.”

“Do they tell you that?” Harry nodded. “Harry, sometimes, do strange things happen to you? Things you couldn’t explain?” Another nod. “That’s perfectly normal. It’s just accidental magic, and it happens to young witches or wizards when they feel upset. We all do it. It doesn’t mean that there’s anything wrong with you.”

Harry looked at him dubiously. “I mean it,” Draco continued. “You’re just fine. Right?”

One of the things that Draco had noticed about seven-year-old Harry was how slow he was to smile. It was markedly different from how he’d been when a baby, when his mouth had eagerly grinned, widely, toothlessly, at everyone around him. At seven, rather than flashing across his face like lightning, as they did in his adult form, Harry’s smiles started with his eyes. They crinkled a little at the edges, and then one corner of his lip would curl, followed by the other. These smiles were tentative, and shy, and gave the impression that he hoped no one would notice them. It was like watching the dawn break over the horizon, and, when Harry gifted him with a slowly blooming smile then, Draco felt a strange prickling in his throat. “I’m fine, Draco,” Harry said, and Draco smiled back at him.

“So now I won’t be hurt anymore?” Harry asked innocently, and Draco stilled.

“That’s a hard question to answer, Harry,” Draco said honestly. “It’s confusing, because you, right now, in this time, are actually twenty-two years old, even if your body and your mind are currently just seven. Within a couple of weeks, you’ll be back to being twenty-two, and in the time between now and then, I can promise you that you will be completely safe.”

Harry looked relieved, but a bit confused. Draco continued, “But, every time you gain a new age, you also seem to gain the memories of everything that happened to you since your previous one. And so, even though I can promise that you won’t be actually hurt between now and then, I don’t really know much about what happened to you before Hogwarts. So while you, this you, won’t be hurt, I’m afraid that you might remember some upsetting things.”

“Oh,” Harry said, considering. “I’m glad that I’ll remember everything, even the bad.”

“Why?”

“Because I’d never want to forget us becoming friends, silly.”

Draco felt like crying.


	10. Chapter 10

And then, Harry was nine, and he was more like the boy that Draco remembered meeting in Madame Malkins. He was thin and knobby-kneed, but a determined little fire lit his green eyes. Somehow, the boy who’d been neglected and unloved by his family had decided he would take care of himself. This was, if anything, more hurtful to Draco. A younger Harry had been desperate to land on the correct behaviour to make his family love him, and blamed himself for every failure. This child had given up on being loved, but was just as determined to keep himself together.

Another interesting facet to this new Harry’s personality was the unmitigated curiosity about the world around him. Harry wanted to know everything. He followed Draco like a shadow, and asked question after question…until he’d realize how much he was talking, and withdraw with a blushing, “Sorry.”

Draco set him to work chopping potions ingredients one afternoon. Harry cheerfully said, “This is way more fun than making stew,” and applied himself with a diligence that Draco had never seen at Hogwarts. Draco wondered whether Harry would have been as abysmal at potions if Snape hadn’t been so hard on him. From what he could see, Harry blossomed like a flower under the faintest of praise. When Draco corrected the way he was holding his knife, then said, “Good,” when his technique improved, Harry had given Draco one of those slow smiles and Draco had had to hold the edge of the table, his heart hurt so much for this child.

On the afternoon of Harry’s second day being nine, Hermione and Ron arrived, with a cheerfully screaming Rose. Harry had agreed to another round of Exploding Snap with Ron, and Draco noticed that he seemed a lot more comfortable around his soon-to-be best mate. They spelled a safety barrier around Rose, and left her with some toys, and then Draco and Hermione disappeared into the lab.

“Harry seems good,” Hermione said with a smile. “I think he’s enjoying his second childhood.”

“Maybe,” Draco said. “He’s convinced that we were best friends at Hogwarts. I didn’t have the heart to tell him the truth.”

“Oh Draco, he’s going to know the truth tomorrow.”

“I know! I just wanted him to have a few days where he had someone on his side. I expect he’s going to hate me even more when he remembers.”

“Harry never hated you,” Hermione said. “Even in school. You made him furious, no question about that, but even when he was stalking you, convinced you were up to no good, you fascinated him.”

“Well, I can understand that,” Draco said gloomily. “I’ve struggled with the same thing since the first day I met him.”

“Draco,” Hermione hesitated. “Do you fancy Harry?”

Draco sighed. “Probably. But no need to worry, I’ll never act on it.”

“Why not?”

“We don’t have enough time for me to list the reasons," he said, rolling his eyes. "Speaking of things we’re avoiding, what’s the latest with Ginervra?”

Hermione groaned. “I’m the worst sort of coward. I can’t find any proof, and I haven’t managed to tell Ron yet.”

“She must be getting suspicious about where Harry is.”

“Sometimes Harry is away on a mission for a while. I have time.”

They were quiet for a while, each of them thinking about their own lies and the way that they would inevitably change things. “Honestly, we’re the worst,” Draco said miserably, after a while.

“Yeah,” Hermione agreed. “But at least we’re friends now. When the Weasleys start hating me, and Harry starts hating you, we won’t be completely alone.”

“Are we? Friends?”

Hermione was startled. “Yes, I think so.”

“Oh. Good.” He toyed with a rack of clean phials; with a wave of his wand, he made them float up and do an elaborate circle dance his mother had made him learn as a child. “Things are going to change. Tomorrow.”

“Yes.”

“We should have a plan.”

“If I’ve learned one thing from Harry, it’s that you can plan all you like, but things will probably go tits up and then you have to wing it.”

“That’s terrifying.”

“He always seems to make it work.”

“He has luck on his side,” Draco said.

Hermione laughed and laughed. Her serious face completely transformed and Draco watched, entranced. “Say what you will about Harry, but I don’t think that him being lucky is accurate, strictly speaking.”

“He’s survived death twice. He killed the Dark Lord.”

“He grew up in a cupboard. He had a Dark Lord living in his head. His girlfriend has been secretly potioning him,” Hermione countered.

“Fair point.”

“So we’ll just hope for the best, then?”

“Nothing else to do, I suppose.”

Draco had a bad night. The stress of the next day’s potion administration kept him from falling asleep, and each of his intrusive thoughts fed upon the previous one. Draco was left shuddering from visions of terrible things happening to Harry at his hand. Lara had been right, he realized. He was in no shape to be taking care of Harry. He’d been so foolish to lie to Harry about their relationship, and when Harry remembered, he’d be _disappointed_ and it would be Draco’s fault. Draco cleaned every surface in the kitchen, as well as the bathroom. When he’d finished, his hands were red and raw from the cleaning supplies, and he was exhausted. As he headed to his room to try to sleep, he paused for a moment at Harry’s door. The room had been altered every time Harry had grown. Kreacher had taken immense joy in caring for the Little Master, and his decorating skills were excellent. In the dim light that spilled in from the hallway, Draco noticed that Kreacher had spelled the ceiling to display the night sky. Instinctively, his eyes sought out his own constellation, and it seemed to glow a little brighter than the surrounding stars.

Harry still slept in a tight little ball, Draco noticed, but he’d kicked his duvet off and so Draco took a step into the room. Harry seemed more vulnerable in sleep, his eyes moving rapidly below the lids, his mouth moving soundlessly. Draco pulled the duvet back over the sleeping boy, and allowed himself the luxury of brushing Harry’s messy curls off his forehead. Harry sighed in his sleep and leaned into the touch. A part of Draco wanted to stay, to watch Harry sleep, to keep him safe through the night, but eventually, he managed to persuade his unwilling legs to carry him to his own bedroom, where he eventually drifted off into fitful slumber.

The next morning wasn’t much better. Draco was anxious and plagued by visions of Harry’s tiny body lying broken and lifeless on the floor. No amount of rational argument with himself succeeded in banishing them. He insisted on sanitizing the table three times before he’d allow Harry to eat breakfast, provoking a fit of sulky temper from Kreacher, who muttered under his breath as he banged plates onto the now undoubtedly clean table.

Harry had watched the exchange with curious, wary eyes, and when Kreacher had disappeared back to Grimmauld place, Harry examined Draco from behind a slice of toast that he was nibbling. “You clean a lot,” he remarked.

Draco laughed, a humourless little bark. “Yes, you could say that.”

“I used to clean a lot too, but I never liked it as much as you do.”

“I wouldn’t say I liked it.”

“But you don’t have anyone making you do it.”

“I make myself do it,” Draco said. It was the first time that he’d really spoken about his compulsions, and he was surprised that Harry had noticed. Then again, when had Harry _not_ noticed the things Draco was trying to hide?

After a moment of thought, Harry said, “Is it because you’re scared?”

Jesus fucking Christ. Why was this version of Harry so much more astute than the one Draco knew? Maybe this was the sort of Harry you got when he wasn’t being abused, or stalked by a Dark Lord. “In a way, yes. My brain works a bit differently than most people. I worry about people getting hurt, and sometimes I get a bit carried away. It causes me to do a lot of things I wouldn’t ordinarily want to, in order to convince myself that they’re safe.”

Harry replied, “I think I can sort of understand that. There was this kid, an older kid, where Dudley and I went to school. Dudley’s a bit of a bully, and he kind of scares and bosses everyone, but then this kid decided that _he_ wanted to be the one that everyone was afraid of, so he started picking on Dudley. I knew it was crazy, knew that Dudley would never do the same for me, but I just felt like I had to protect him. And so, even though I knew I’d get flattened, I got in between them.”

“Did you win?” Draco asked.

Harry laughed. “Of course not, I got a bloody nose and a month of detention, but I did give the other kid a black eye before he got the best of me. It was so stupid, and I knew it was stupid, and Dudley didn’t even care, he was mad that I made him look weak, but I couldn’t _not_ do it. Is it sort of the same thing?”

It wasn’t, not really, but Harry’s easy acceptance that sometimes your brain makes you do pointless things warmed Draco’s heart a little. “It is, sort of. I know that we’re safe here, but that doesn’t mean that I don’t check the wards three times every night before I go to bed. Sometimes I try not to give in, but it’s hard.”

“Is that why you never go out?”

Draco smiled. “Mostly, yeah. I worry that if I go out, I’ll get exposed to some sort of disease, and then infect the house, and the moment my Mother or someone comes here, they’ll get sick, and it will be my fault. It’s mad, really.”

“No it isn’t,” Harry said. “If I had a Mother like yours, I’d do anything in the world to protect her.” He gave Draco a cheerful little smile, and went back to his toast, watching Draco from under his long lashes.

“You did, actually,” Draco said, uncertain why he was bringing it up, but wanting Harry to know how much his mum loved him. “You had a Mother who loved you very much.”

“Yeah, until she got drunk and died in a car crash,” Harry said, his face falling.

“Harry, no. Is that what they told you?” Harry nodded, a wrinkle appearing between his fine eyebrows. “No, Harry, your mum and dad were really good people. They weren’t drunk, I’m positive. I don’t even think they had a car.”

“So how did they die? Aunt Petunia said that’s how I got this,” Harry replied, running a finger down his scar.

“It’s not really a nice story, and you’ll remember it after this afternoon. Are you sure you want me to tell you?” Draco warned, desperately regretting diving into this cauldron of fish.

“Yes. I want to know. If I’ve been lied to…I want to know. I know you want to keep me safe, but telling the truth is more important.” Harry said firmly. Draco looked at him doubtfully, but he insisted, “It _is_ , Draco. I can’t be safe if I don’t know. The truth is always more important, because then we can work together to stay safe.”

“Alright,” Draco replied, pouring another cup of tea. “So, a long time ago, there was a really Dark Wizard, who didn’t like Muggles at all. He thought that those who had magic were better than those who didn’t. And he thought that those who were Muggleborn,” he paused here and registered Harry’s look of confusion, “Those who were born magical, but from Muggle parents, weren’t as good as children born of two ‘pure’ wizards.”

“Is it true? Are Muggleborns less powerful?” Harry asked.

“Not a bit,” Draco replied. “Hermione is Muggleborn, and she’s one of the most powerful witches I know.” With a tiny inward grin at how much his opinions had changed, Draco continued, “Anyhow, this Dark Wizard, he wanted to be in charge of everyone, and prevent Muggleborn children from being educated, in fact, he wanted to get rid of Muggles entirely. As you can imagine, a lot of people thought that this was a bad idea, but he was very powerful. Some people decided to try and fight him, including your mom and dad. The Dark Wizard didn’t like that much, and he started hunting down those who opposed him. When you were just a baby, he came to your house one night, and tried to kill you.”

“Me? Why would he want to kill me? If I was a baby, I didn’t even know any of this Muggle stuff.”

“Yes, I know. He was a bit confused, mad really. He thought that you were an enemy, someone who could defeat him.”

Harry laughed. “He does sound like a nutter. Imagine being afraid of a baby!”

“Yes, imagine,” Draco said, feeling a bubble of hysterical laughter rise inside him. He impatiently shoved it down, and continued. “Anyhow, the Dark Wizard ordered your parents to stand aside, said he’d spare them if they allowed him to get to you. Your parents refused, and he…well, he killed them both, I’m afraid.”

“Oh,” Harry said sadly. “So it’s my fault then, that they’re dead. How come he didn’t kill me then?”

“Well, your mum’s love protected you, Harry, and when the Dark Wizard tried to kill you, the curse rebounded, and you survived. That’s how you got the scar. It isn’t your fault, Harry, you were a baby.”

“It was the bad Wizard’s fault. I’m glad he’s not around anymore, he sounds like a right git.”

“He was,” Draco said firmly. “I'm glad he’s not around as well.”

Harry looked like he had a million follow up questions, so Draco quickly said, "What would you like to do today? We have a few hours before Hermione comes to give you your potion.”

Harry gave a longing look to the window, where a bright sunny day beckoned, but said, “Oh, I don’t mind. I can help you with potions, if you like.”

Suddenly, Draco recalled what he’d said to Lara earlier. “ _For once in my life, I want to be proud that I did the difficult thing, that I chose the right thing._ ” He knew it would be difficult, and that Harry wouldn’t blame him in the slightest for wanting to stay within the protective wards of his house, but this might be the last time that Harry looked at him with anything other than scorn. “Would you like to see where I grew up?”

“Go outside? But Draco-”

“It will be okay. If you…listen to my instructions, I’m sure it will be okay.”

“Um, alright, if you’re sure.”

Draco wasn’t sure, actually. He hadn’t left his home in well over a year. His increasing need for isolation had been what had prompted Paul to finally break up with him. Since he’d moved out, the idea of being beyond his wards had horrified Draco. Still, it was the Manor, and despite the figurative ghosts that now haunted it, it felt like home. His Mother was there, and familiar elves, who would do whatever Draco needed to keep them all safe. “Let’s go,” he said decisively. “Go and clean up, get dressed, and we’ll leave when you’re ready.”

Harry leapt to his feet to do as Draco said, but stopped in the doorway. “Draco? Will your mum be there?”

“I expect so,” Draco answered. He didn’t mention that the conditions of Narcissa’s house arrest allowed her two visits to Draco a week, so she was unlikely to be anywhere else.

The answering smile that Harry gave Draco was enough to convince him that this was worth it.

When they flooed in, Draco felt the wash of familiar magic as the house recognized him as Lord of the Manor. He instinctively strengthened the wards, and cast a spell of his own devising to banish any germs, then cast a quick cleansing spell on Harry and himself. Harry grinned up at him as the magic tingled on his skin. Then he looked around in wonder. “You grew up here?”

“I did.”

“It’s like a castle! I’ve never felt anywhere so magical!” Just then, a house elf popped into the floo lounge, and gave an astonished squeak when she saw them. She popped out just as quickly, leaving Harry watching where she’d been with a bemused head tilt. 

A few moments later, Narcissa came in, her poised expression belying just a little of her own astonishment. “Draco, and Harry! What a wonderful surprise!”

“Hello Mother,” Draco said, and crossed the room to greet her. His lips stopped just shy of her upturned cheek, but, since that was normal for them, she gave him a breathtaking smile and then held her arms out to Harry. His eyes widened, and quickly met Draco’s, as though he were asking permission. Draco smiled encouragingly at him, and he slowly walked up to her, as though approaching a nesting dragon. 

“Hello, Harry, it’s wonderful to see you again,” Narcissa said sweetly, and Harry’s lip trembled for a moment before he stepped closer and allowed her to hug him. Hugs weren’t common in Pureblooded families, but Narcissa had a knack for understanding when to sidestep convention. She gently kissed his cheek, and his hands touched the spot before looking up in wonder. 

“Oh,” he breathed, “that was even nicer than I imagined it. Thank you.”

Draco’s heart broke a little, as seemed to be common when spending time with Harry, but Narcissa merely smiled gently at him, and said, “You’re a lovely boy, Harry Potter.” 

Harry’s cheeks flamed, and he seemed a little overwhelmed. “What first?” Draco asked. “We could have tea, or I could show you around inside, or we could look at the gardens.”

“Could I see your bedroom?” Harry asked guilelessly. Draco started a little, wishing with everything in him that an adult Harry was asking the questions for very different reasons, but, since that were about as likely as Draco deciding to breed Hippogriffs, he merely nodded, and gave his mother a bow, before leading Harry from the room.

Draco’s childhood bedroom had changed little since he was Harry’s age. Once he’d started Hogwarts, he’d had no interest in spending time improving a space he spent little time in, and during the war, well, decorating was the furthest thing from his mind.

They stepped into the room, and Harry looked around with interest. The room was large, with enormous windows that faced the gardens. A four-post bed with the curtains drawn took up much of one corner, and and ancient desk, passed down from his mother’s side, occupied another. High backed chairs were clustered around the fire, and doors led to a large ensuite bathroom and closet, respectively. A high shelf encircled the room, and Draco’s eyes instinctively sought out its contents. _All is well_ , he thought to himself. _All is well, all is we-_ …

One shelf, piled with a number of plush toys that had been Draco’s since he was small looked wrong. The chimera was too close to the Hornback. “Someone’s been in here,” he said, not registering that the words had been said out loud. He quickly scanned the corners for shadows, and pulled Harry to stand behind him. _Not safe_ , his mind said, _not safe here, not safe for Harry_. “Pippy!” Draco’s voice was high and wavering, and he backed into a corner, nudging Harry behind him.

The elf popped into the room, took one look around, and squeaked in alarm. With a snap of his fingers, the toys were the correct distance apart, and he threw himself down at Draco’s feet. “Pippy is sorry, Master Draco. Pippy was unwell last week, and Dippen was doing Pippy’s cleaning. Pippy told Dippen to get it right, but Pippy didn’t check.”

“It’s okay, Pippy,” Draco said absently, “I understand.”

He waved his wand in the direction of the shelf, and all of the stuffed toys tumbled to the floor. One by one, he meticulously arranged them, before spelling them all back down and doing so again. And again. He was about to do so for another round of three, when a noise behind him startled him, and he whirled around to face his adversary. Only to find Harry, looking mortified. “I’m so sorry,” he said lowly. “I was going to sit down, stay out of your way, and I bumped into the wall. I didn’t mean to disturb what you were doing.”

Draco stared. Since his compulsions had started, in the horrid seventh year at Hogwarts, those who were victims to his time-consuming rituals had reacted with varying levels of impatience. Pansy had initially laughed at him, and then had increasingly flounced from the room when the rituals had started to interfere with everything. Goyle had been slightly better, but even he kept his distance when Draco was in mid-ritual. Blaise had acted as though they didn’t happen at all. His Mother had been initially concerned, and then had taken a page from Blaise’s spellbook.

Nobody had been as calmly accepting of him as Harry. There was no judgement, no impatience at all in the thin little face. He’d simply accepted that Draco needed to do these things, and resolved to keep out of his way while he did them. Draco could imagine how he would have reacted at nine, if someone had kept him waiting for something so stupid, so pointless. With great resolve, Draco ignored as many of the panicked voices that were clamouring for his attention as possible, and gave Harry the biggest smile he could manage. “I think I’m finished, for now,” he said, and Harry looked at him hard, as if to make sure he was telling the truth. “Let’s go have tea.”

The day passed without incident. Harry was amazed by the gardens, and, when they stopped to have lunch, his praise was effusive, causing Narcissa to beam at him. “The gardens are a particular point of pride for me, Harry. I’m so pleased that you like them.”

“You don’t make the,” Harry’s voice dropped to a whisper, “elves do them?”

Narcissa laughed. “They know that they’ve elves, darling. And yes, sometimes they do help me, especially when I’m doing something particularly difficult, but I greatly enjoy working with my own hands. Perhaps you’d like to join me some day, and I can show you how to plant a garden of your own.” The worshipful gaze that Harry returned was answer enough.

When lunch had finished, Draco had one more surprise for Harry, and, when he presented him with his old child’s broomstick, Harry looked at him in confusion. “Do I need to do some cleaning up?”

“Not quite,” Draco answered, summoning his own broom. Before long, he’d shown Harry the basics, and Harry mounted the broom with a look of trepidation, putting paid to Draco’s long-harboured suspicion that Harry had had extensive flying lessons before that day at Hogwarts. It took no time at all before Harry had found his latent skills, and he was already straining the safety charms of the broom when Draco told him it was time to go. 

“I wanted to try to do a loop,” Harry protested.

“Next time,” Draco promised, even as a sick feeling in his stomach reminded him that there likely wouldn’t be a next time.

When they said goodbye to his Mother, Harry hugged her without hesitation, and she placed a kiss on his forehead, her eyes warm as she looked over at Draco. With a sense of impending doom, Draco took Harry through the floo, and they were home.


	11. Chapter 11

Hermione arrived, with Ron and Rose, a few minutes later. She and Draco disappeared down into the lab, under the auspices of preparing the potion. “How are you holding up?” Hermione asked, the moment they’d warded the door.

“I’m afraid,” Draco admitted. “This was probably the last day I’ll spend with him.”

“Draco, I don’t think that’s true. He might initially react badly, but I’m sure that he’ll come around. Although,” she said ruefully, “maybe not until after he’s sixteen. He was pretty angsty that year.”

“I recall,” Draco said dryly. “What about you? Any movement on your big secret?”

“A little,” Hermione admitted, “but I’m still a giant coward. I told Ron that I didn’t see how it could be any sort of stimulant, and that the I thought maybe it was some type of attraction potion. We’ve known that part for ages, anyhow. He’s an Auror, though, and I’m sort of hoping…”

“That he’ll figure it out on his own?” Hermione nodded. “Very Slytherin of you, Granger.”

“Either way,” Hermione said with a sigh, “let’s see what happens with our eleven-year-old Harry and then we can discuss what happens next.”

Draco had gotten used to how Harry reacted to the potion, but it was still frightening to see him stop breathing. Draco theorized that the sudden flood of two years worth of memories were simply overwhelming him. This time, it seemed to take an excruciatingly long time for Harry to come back to himself. When he finally opened his eyes, he blinked for a moment in confusion. His eyes lit on Hermione, and he seemed to relax a little, despite his disoriented expression. Then he spotted Draco.

“Malfoy,” he growled, sitting up and reaching for his wand. Draco’s heart sank. Harry blinked a few times, and then said, “Draco?” He seemed to be struggling to reconcile the Malfoy he knew when he was eleven with the Draco he’d spent the previous days with.

“Harry,” Draco said, taking a step toward where Harry was splayed out on the bed.

“You lied,” he said quietly. “You said we were friends, but you were mean. You were mean to Ron, and Hermione, and Hagrid.”

“I was,” Draco agreed, utterly ashamed with his younger self. 

“But why would you lie?” Harry’s voice sounded so hurt, that Draco felt like crying. “Why would you tell me something that wasn’t true?”

“I wanted it to be true,” Draco said softly. “I shouldn’t have lied, Harry, and I’m sorry. I didn’t do it to hurt you. I won’t do it again.”

“So when did we become friends?” Harry asked bluntly. Draco flinched.

“W-when you were about three? I think? It’s hard to tell.”

“Wait,” Harry cried, “you mean we never become friends? We hate each other forever?”

“Harry,” Hermione said gently, “our school years were a bit tough. You had a hard time, and so did Draco, and it was hard for you to see eye to eye. After we left Hogwarts, the two of you made your peace, but you didn’t see each other very much. But you and Draco have been so close, all this time you’ve been here. Just because you weren’t friends before, doesn’t mean you can’t be friends now.”

“But how could I…” Harry looked at Hermione sharply. “Wait. What do you mean I had a hard time at school. Do you mean bullying? Do I get bullied?”

“Not exactly, Harry. Although,” Hermione cast a fairly helpless look at Draco, “I guess there were times when you felt a bit bullied.”

“I want you to tell me. Tell me everything. I don’t want to have to remember it bit by bit.”

Hermione hesitated. “Are you sure, Harry? It’s…kind of a lot.”

“Of course I’m sure. It sounds like it sucked, from start to finish, and I don’t want any more things blindsiding me. Right now. You, and you,” Harry looked at Draco. “Tell me everything.”

So they did. It took hours, and Harry was exhausted by the time they finished. He’d cried a few times during the retelling. When Hermione told him about Sirius. When Draco told him about Dumbledore. When Ron, who had shown up midway through, and made them come sit by the fire before they continued, surprisingly gently, told him that Harry himself was a Horcrux. To be fair, Draco cried then too, but he managed to spell his tears away quickly and hoped that nobody noticed.

When they finally finished, and Harry was sitting, dumbly trying to understand all that he’d been told, Draco said, a little tentatively, “Harry?”

“I…I don’t…I need…” Harry’s eyes were a little wild as he looked around the room, avoiding eye contact with anyone. Suddenly, he jumped to his feet and sprinted from the room, headed in the direction of his bedroom.

Ron, Hermione and Draco exchanged helpless looks. They waited a terribly long time, and when Harry didn’t reappear, Draco said, “I’ll go and see.”

Harry was, predictably enough, in his closet. Draco knocked on the doorframe. “May I come in?”

“I guess,” a small voice said.

Draco folded himself nearly in half, and shuffled into the closet, Harry’s robes impeding his progress from where they hung. “I bet you’re feeling a little overwhelmed,” Draco said.

“Yeah,” Harry said finally, “but I reckon it’s easier to know it all at now. I hate not knowing stuff.”

“I would have preferred not to tell you all of this at once. It’s rather a lot to take in.”

“But at least I know.”

“True. Do you have any questions? Do you want to talk about anything?”

In the dim light, Draco could see movement as Harry shook his head. Finally, though, he said, “Draco?”

“Yes?”

“I’m not really mad about you lying about us being friends. I guess I understand. But it’s just…a lot. Would you mind if I stayed with Ron and Hermione for a bit?”

Draco had always thought that having a broken heart was an expression, invented by overly-romantic Muggles. However, he soon learned that it was very much a physical sensation, and he heard his own sharp intake of breath as his chest seemed to come apart in a ripping spasm. “Of course I don’t mind, Harry. I’ve told you all along that you only need ask.”

“Do you hate me?”

“I don’t. Quite the opposite, really. We weren’t friends before, but I hope we will be someday.”

“I do too, Draco. Thank you for taking care of me and stuff.”

“It was my pleasure, Harry,” Draco said, meaning every word as he vainly tried to ignore the gaping hole in his chest.

It didn’t take long to gather all of Harry’s things and put the potions into a charmed carrier that would prevent them from breaking. Hermione shrunk them all down, and Ron carried Rose in one arm, and guided Harry in the other as they disappeared through the floo. Hermione was about to follow them, when she suddenly turned back, “Thank you, Draco, for being so understanding. I don’t think it will take him long to get over this, but I know it will mean a lot to him that you gave him the space he needed. I’ll be in touch.”

“Watch out for Ginervra, will you? Keep him safe,” Draco said, and both of them ignored the way his voice broke on the last word. Hermione nodded, and blew him a kiss, and then disappeared in a whoosh of green flames.

It was only after Draco had gone through the house, warding every window, checking and rechecking every door, every lightswitch, his heels clicking on the floors of his empty house, that Draco allowed himself to succumb to the misery that was choking him. He very quietly made his way to his bedroom, gathered the duvet over his head, and cried out his heartbreak like a lonely child.

Days passed, and Draco found the silence and solitude almost impossible to bear. He struggled with his thoughts, and his survival was hour by hour. Sometimes, he’d get lost in his rituals, and gradually come back to awareness, some time later, his hands cracked and bleeding from their rough treatment as he cleaned and scrubbed. Not knowing how Harry was doing was nearly impossible to bear, and occasionally, he’d become so frantic that he would crouch by the fire, breath coming in gasps, trying to muster the courage to floo-call Hermione. He prevailed, however. Harry didn’t want him, not anymore. 

Eight days later, the silence was interrupted by the arrival of a tiny owl, who twittered and chirped at Draco as he struggled to stay aloft. He had a scroll tied to his leg, and the tiny owl could barely stay still as Draco untied it. “There now, you daft thing,” he said, and the owl gave a joyful hoot in response.

The scroll was actually two pieces of parchment. One contained a huge amount of writing, and unsurprisingly, it was from Hermione:

_Dear Draco,_

_I’m sorry it’s been so long since I wrote. As you can imagine, things have been a bit mad here. I finally managed to confess my suspicions to Ron, and, as I’d hoped, he was already coming to similar conclusions. We tried to avoid telling Harry anything about Ginny, but he’s not very good about things being kept from him (as you may have already noticed), and he got wind that something was up right away._

_When we told him what we suspected…he was quite upset, Draco. As I had alluded to earlier, Harry had some suspicions that he didn’t like women, and apparently, those feelings started around third year, so by the time he was thirteen, he was thinking about boys a lot more than he noticed girls, but I’ll let him share more about that, if he chooses to._

_All of this means that he’s quite conflicted, and feeling very unsafe and betrayed. What was, on reflection, a very harmless little lie on your part has him wondering who he’s able to trust. I don’t say this to upset you, because, as I’ve said, you didn’t really do anything wrong, but I wanted you to know the context. When he turned fifteen, and started understanding all of the things that Dumbledore kept from him, and with Ginny’s betrayal on top of that…well, he’s not really doing that well._

_He’s very angry, and we keep having to prevent him from storming over to his flat and giving Ginny a piece of his mind. I’d forgotten just how impetuous he was at that age, and I can tell you, I’m not looking forward to Rose’s teenaged years in the slightest._

_Interestingly, while he’s still upset with you, he won’t hear a word against you. Ron called you a pointy git the other day (sorry), and Harry nearly hexed him. We’ve learned that it’s okay for Harry to talk about you, but the rest of us need to keep a civil tongue or face his wrath. I just thought you might like to know that._

_I think it’s all going to be okay, Draco. Harry seems to be finally processing all of the things that happened to him as a child; he never wanted to think about it before, and I think that he’s going to emerge from this experience with a better understanding of himself, and a bit of distance from the traumas he’s suffered. I know that doesn’t help you right now, with him being so angsty, but I don’t want you to lose hope. He’s always been fascinated by you, Draco, and I think he might be putting the pieces together to understand what that means._

_On the Ginny front, we’re working out a plan to get some proof of what she’s done. Ron is absolutely furious, and he won’t rest until he sees justice on Harry’s behalf. Feel free to owl me if you like, and I’d love to come over for tea sometime soon to catch up. Harry gave me a letter to send to you, and it’s enclosed. Of course I didn’t read it, so I apologize in advance if he’s being a prat, but hopefully you understand the context now._

_Fondly, Hermione._

Draco smiled as he put the wordy parchment aside. Hermione wrote exactly as she spoke, and it was lovely to imagine her voice. He couldn’t help but marvel that he’d grown to like her so much. If his eleven-year-old self could see him, he’d be mortified, but twenty-two year old Draco was proud that such a smart, kind girl could see good in him. He still worried about screwing things up, and having her realize how unworthy he was of her friendship, but he resolved to enjoy it as long as it lasted.

He hesitated before unrolling the (much smaller) parchment from Harry. He know that it might be full of Harry’s vitriol, and he wasn’t looking forward to any of the much-deserved criticism that Harry might be levelling on him. Eventually, though, the anxiety of not knowing grew too great, and with a sigh, he unrolled it.

_Malfoy;_

_Hermione said she was writing you, so I thought I would too. I’m still mad at you, but I reckon I wouldn’t have known what to do in your place either, so I suppose we’re quits about the lying. Also, Hermione broke your nose back at school, which I didn’t know before, and I have to confess, when I remembered, I didn’t feel that sorry for you._

_When I remembered everything that’s happened since first year, at first, I was mad at you, because you were kind of a git, but then I remember that you took me flying that day, and shared your mum with me._

_It’s still confusing, because I kind of hate you, and I kind of don’t, but it doesn’t really matter, because I have a bunch of other people that I’m way madder at. Like Ginny. I suppose you know all about that too. Let me know if you know some sort of potion that will give her spots._

_I never know how to finish letters, so I’ll just say thanks, and that if you don’t mind, maybe I’ll write you again. You can reply if you want.  
Harry._


	12. Chapter 12

A few days later, the floo chimed, and Draco was surprised to see the freckled face of Ron Weasley in the flames. “Hey Malfoy, can I come through?”

“Of course,” Draco said, and then, worriedly, “is Harry alright?”

“Yeah, he’s fine. Still slouching around the house like a bloody ghoul. If he’s not snarling about something that’s made him mad, he’s sad about somebody he lost. It wasn’t fun the first time, but at least all the drama was spread out, yeah?”

“Well, I suppose nobody’s trying to kill him,” Draco said.

“Yeah, there’s that,” Ron agreed. “Anyhow, I’m here on unofficial official business. I know that you and Hermione talked about my sister, and what she did to Harry?”

“We did. I’m…I’m sorry, Weasley. It’s never easy when someone in your family betrays you.”

Ron looked momentarily surprised, and then said, “Oh, yeah. Thanks. I suppose it didn’t occur to me that you’d have an idea of what it’s like.”

“I’m afraid so,” Draco said. They shared an uneasy look, and the awkward silence extended a bit, before Draco said, “If you feel like you’d like to, I don’t know, talk, or get drunk or something…I know your best mate isn’t really available for that right now.”

Ron gave him a sudden wide smile. “Thanks, Malfoy, you’re alright. I’ll take you up on that when things are less mental. Anyhow, about Ginny…I’ve spoken to Kingsley about the whole situation. We go back a bit, and he’s a good friend of Harry’s, so I figure we can trust him. Plus, he was an Auror for years, so he knows how it goes. Kings said that without some more proof, we don’t have any chance of getting Ginny taken into custody. I’ve got two ideas, and they’re both absolutely mad. I was wondering if you could give me your opinion.”

“Certainly. Do you want tea?”

Ron did, and when they were sitting on the high stools at the counter of the lab with their cups, Ron said, “So the first idea is the one that won’t get me into any trouble, but it’s less likely to succeed. If I can find any trace of the potions she’s been dosing Harry with, or if I can find someone who was selling them to her…”

“But didn’t Hermione already try that?”

“Yeah,” Ron muttered. “That’s why I don’t think it will work. If you have any contacts in the potions industry who might know of someone dodgy, I’m all ears, but that’s going to take forever, and I don’t know what we’ll do to keep her away from Harry in the meantime. She’s already getting suspicious about Harry’s ‘undercover mission’. I had to get Kings to send her an owl today, telling her that Harry was away on his orders. Still, it won’t hold her off forever.”

“So what’s your other idea?”

“We spike her drink with Veritaserum and get a memory of her confession.”

“It won’t hold up in court.”

“Nope. And I could get fired, or maybe sent to Azkaban. But if I can get her to tell me who she’s getting the potions from, or where she hides them, I could get the evidence, and then get Hermione to memory charm the illegal stuff away from me and Gin.”

“Ron, that crosses so many lines,” Draco said.

“Yeah, well, secretly dosing the Chosen One with illegal love potions crosses a fair few too.” Ron’s cheeks were getting red, a telltale sign that he was getting frustrated.

“I know, I know,” Draco soothed, once again struck by the discordance of comforting Ron Weasley about their mutual worry for Harry Potter. Ron seemed to be thinking the same thing, because he gave Draco a slightly mad grin that made them both laugh.

“Well,” Draco said thoughtfully, “I do recall some potion makers that were a bit more Knockturn than Diagon, if you know what I mean. I could put out a few feelers, if you like.”

“That would be brilliant,” Ron said. “I can’t imagine they’d be all that helpful if I showed up. It’s no secret that I’m an Auror.”

“And even though I contract to the Ministry, it’s never been public knowledge,” Draco said, a little ruefully. The Ministry had been desperate for someone with Draco’s skills, but insisted that he sign a binding magical non-disclosure agreement to prevent him from publicizing the arrangement. They were clearly trying to avoid the bad publicity that would result from having an ex-Death Eater working with the DMLE, but unfortunately, it hadn’t done anything to restore Draco’s reputation. Before he’d been completely housebound, he still got hexed and spat on in Diagon Alley. Yet another thing that Paul had been unable to live with, he recalled.

“Yeah, I always thought that was bollocks,” Ron said easily. “Harry about had a conniption when he found out. Shouted his way all the way up to Kingsley’s office.”

“Really?”

Ron blushed. “I shouldn’t say anything, Draco, but Harry doesn’t hate you, yeah?”

“He does right now.”

With a bark of laughter, Ron said, “Harry hates everyone right now. He hexed me yesterday when I told him to get his smelly socks off the coffee table. He’s a monster. That’s what happens when you’re fifteen. Honestly, I wish you’d take him back.”

Draco smiled. “No you don’t.”

“No, I don’t, but he’s still a pain.”

After Ron left, Draco sent a few messages with his owl to some of his father’s dodgy potions contacts. He’d never really worked with them, wanting to keep his fledgling reputation clean, but, ironically, the Malfoy name still held some sway in certain circles. He heard the knock of an owl at the window that evening, and expected it to be a response from one of them, but was surprised when it was the tiny, hyperactive owl again.

He was further surprised when the short message inside was from Harry, not Hermione.

_Draco,_

_I’m seventeen now, and I remember it all. It’s a lot to think about. I just wanted you to know that I didn’t forget about you, and I’m not mad anymore. I don’t really feel like seeing anybody right at the moment, but when I do, I wondered if you’d come visit. I got used to seeing you a lot, and it’s strange that you’re not around, even if it was my fault._

_I hope you’re okay, and not cleaning too much or anything. Say hi to your mum._

_Harry_

Draco smiled a little, and, impulsively, summoned a parchment and self-inking quill, and with elegant penmanship, wrote:

_Dear Harry,_

_I remember how overwhelming my own seventeenth year was, and so I can only imagine what you’re feeling right now. If you want to talk, you need only ask._

_Circumstances are difficult for you right now, both with the sudden regaining of so many memories, as well as the ongoing situation in your personal life as a twenty-two year old._

_During my seventh year at Hogwarts, when things seemed truly hopeless, you and your friends off doing Merlin-knows-what, and those dreadful Carrows torturing everyone and recruiting the Slytherins as their servants, Severus intercepted me on a particularly difficult night. I don’t remember much of what he said, but he handed me a scrap of parchment containing the words of a Muggle poet. At the time, they made me think of you, and my hopes that you would continue fighting and emerge victorious over the Dark Lord. I always hoped I’d be able to share them with you, and I can’t think of a better time than now._

_Invictus_

_Out of the night that covers me,  
Black as the pit from pole to pole,  
I thank whatever gods may be  
For my unconquerable soul._

_In the fell clutch of circumstance  
I have not winced nor cried aloud.  
Under the bludgeonings of chance  
My head is bloody, but unbowed._

_Beyond this place of wrath and tears  
Looms but the Horror of the shade,  
And yet the menace of the years  
Finds and shall find me unafraid._

_It matters not how strait the gate,  
How charged with punishments the scroll,  
I am the master of my fate,  
I am the captain of my soul._

_Draco_

The little owl seemed to have known that Draco would have a return missive, because he hopped excitedly from one surface to another as Draco wrote, and twittered excitedly as Draco fastened the parchment to his leg. As he disappeared through the window, Draco thought about how it would be to have had to experience his own adolescence again, and he hoped that Harry would be alright.

Three days later, Draco was no closer to a solution. His Father’s contacts had indeed contacted him back, but none of them had a regular customer for love potion. It didn’t make sense. Draco knew that the potions community was a small one, and all of the reputable masters refused to sell any form of the substance. He’d been so sure that Ginervra would be using one of the dodgy ones.

He was absently cleaning his sink for the third time that day when he had a thought. Suppose she wasn’t buying the potion pre-made, but was brewing it herself? Draco knew that Ashwinder eggs were a restricted substance, and since they were certainly what had caused Harry’s reaction, he was absolutely sure that they’d been used in the potion. He quickly scribbled a note, and cast a quick _Gemino_ charm to reproduce it, then sent the inquiry off to his Father’s contacts.

A few days later, Draco recognized the Weasley’s tiny, strange owl again, and there was another note from Harry.

_Draco,_

_Thank you. I’ve never really been able to understand poetry and things like that, but I liked this one. I think you’re giving me entirely too much credit. I never meant to be brave or anything, I’m just lucky, I suppose. It’s not like I’m smart like you and Hermione, or good at planning stuff like Ron. Anyway, though, I liked the poem, and maybe someday I’ll be worthy of someone imagining me when they read those words._

_I’m twenty-one, now, and so there’s only one more dose of potion to go. Hermione says to tell you she’s checked and rechecked the dose, so she’s certain it’s right. To be honest, I’m a little stir crazy here. Ron and Hermione are great, and Rose is fun, if a bit scary, but I feel like I’m just…waiting._

_I also want to go any have things out with Ginny, and it’s driving me crazy to be hidden away here like some damsel in distress, but Ron has mostly convinced me that if we don’t do this properly, Gin will go free, and I’ll spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder and checking my drinks for potions. I hate it though._

_I’m still terrible company, and I’m sure Ron and Hermione will be glad when I am back to normal, but if you felt up to it, you’re welcome to visit me here. Just a thought. I know that you don’t go out very much._

_Harry_

Draco smiled as he put the note with the others that Harry had written him, but the anxiety that filled his gut rose and twisted like a terrified animal. Harry wanted him to visit, and Draco desperately wanted to see him. But how could he? Other than the trip to the Manor, Draco hadn’t left the house in so long. The notion of being out there, where unimaginable danger lurked, was unfathomable. 

And yet. Harry wanted to see him. Draco longed to be himself again, whole, like he’d been before his terrible sixth year, when the stresses of his tasks had finally twisted his mind. Before the eventual defeat of the Dark Lord had made him realize that his every action had terrible consequences, and that he wasn’t the man he’d thought he was. Before he resolved, with no doubt whatsoever, that his judgement was so flawed that he couldn’t be trusted.

He considered calling Lara, but he knew what she’d say, and he wasn’t prepared to defend his choices to her. (Perhaps somewhere in the depths of his mind, he acknowledged that he wasn’t being fair to his therapist, who had proven beyond question that she was his staunchest supporter, but he wasn’t interested in being fair, he was interested in fixing his stupid, broken mind, and going to see Harry.)

He knew that Hermione had granted him access to their floo, and was still utterly touched by the gesture of faith. In the end, he spent two hours hovering beside the flames of his own floo, wishing with his entire being that he was strong enough, but ultimately, the fear would take over, and he’d be left huddled in a heap on the floor, trying to catch his breath. In complete disgust with himself, Draco went to bed and tossed and turned all night.

It was the tapping of a beak against his windowpane that woke him the next morning. Miserably, he dragged himself out of his bed, and, after a few spells to sanitize the bird, allowed it in. It was from one of his Father’s contacts. It said:

_Malfoy;_

_Now that you mention it, I do have one regular customer for Ashwinder eggs. Some old Hag, would look right at home down Knockturn, if you know what I mean. She always comes in person, pays with coins, no Gringott’s card for her, and barely speaks. I don’t have any record though, nothing that would help you find her._

_All I know is that she’s a fan of the Harpies. Last year, I think it was, she was in a right hurry. She had a huge bag with her and a bunch of parcels. She reached for her coin pouch, and dropped the bag, and out fell a set of Quidditch boots in the Holyhead colours. She stuffed those back in right sharpish, and paid me extra to keep my damned mouth shut. Like I care who my customers are, or why they bother to glamour themselves beforehand._

_I figure, I don’t owe her anything. She hasn’t been by in ages. Besides, I owe your dad a life debt. I figure we’re square now, so don’t bother contacting me again._

_J_

Draco considered the information. Obviously, this wasn’t proof, not nearly enough proof to put Ginny in prison, or even keep her away from Harry. He had to figure out where she could be brewing. Love potions were delicate, and had to sit for long periods of time. She wouldn’t be able to make this on her kitchen stove, not without Harry finding out.

He pondered it a while longer, but it suddenly occurred to him that Hermione and Ron would have a much better understanding of Ginervra’s potential potion-making spots. He knelt by the floo and called out, “Hermione and Ron Weasley’s house”. The floo chimed, and Draco waited. And waited. Puzzled, Draco ended the call. He knew that Ron and Hermione were home; It was the day of Harry’s last dose, and Hermione had told him to come see Harry, if he liked. He made himself a cup of tea, and settled by the fire with a potions journal. When he’d finished reading, and had drained the last of the tea, he tried again, and there was still no answer. Something nagged, deep in his consciousness. Draco prided himself on having very, very good instincts, when, that is, his mind wasn’t inventing terrible obsessions about how he was endangering people. His canniness had allowed him to survive having Voldemort and his Death Eaters living in the Manor, and had kept him on the correct side of his Aunt Bella’s wand on more than a few occasions. So, despite the fact that the logical part of his brain dismissed it as paranoia, Draco fretted.

Harry wasn’t going out at all, he knew. Despite the fact that he was nearly back to his normal appearance, they had been keeping his presence secret, to evade Ginervra’s attention. And Draco also knew that Harry hadn’t been left alone, not once, since he’d de-aged in the first place. _Wrong_ , his intuition said firmly, _something is wrong_.

The longer he tried to ignore it, the more his sixth sense clamoured for attention. This was different from his normal compulsive impulses. Finally, unable to ignore it, Draco grabbed some floo powder, and readied himself to throw it into the flames. He stood there for a minute, uncertain how to make his body obey his mind. The two factions warred for a while, and, desperate to do something, Draco stomped away from the floo and to the shelf where he kept clean phials. His breaths tearing his throat, he stood there, utterly furious with himself for his inaction. The anger rose and peaked in him until, with a crash, the phials shattered, spraying the lab with glass.

Draco stood, shocked by the bout of accidental magic. His temper and panic had gotten the best of him on countless occasions before, but he hadn’t performed accidental magic in years. He raised his wand, about to spell the glass back into its expected shape, but then, with a growl of fury, his thoughts again turned to Harry, and turned back to the floo. He checked his watch. It was nearly midnight. Despite the late hour, he made his decision. There was another momentary delay as he fought his fears, but ultimately, his concern for Harry’s safety won out, and in a flash of green flames, he stepped into the floo and spun away. It was when he emerged into Ron and Hermione’s sitting room that he saw an enormous flash, felt a pain in his chest, and then Draco knew only darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to say thanks so much for reading, and for your lovely comments and kudos. It's really been so wonderful to see that you're enjoying this story as much as I enjoyed reading it.
> 
> The poem that Draco sends to Harry is, of course Invictus, meaning “unconquerable” or “undefeated” in Latin, and is by William Ernest Henley. This poem is about courage in the face of death, and holding on to one's own dignity despite the indignities life places before us.


	13. Chapter 13

He awoke some time later laying on the hearth. The thready light of dawn was beginning to break through the horizon, casting a dusky rose to the room. He looked around to see that Hermione and Ron were bound to a set of dining room chairs, but Ron was awakening as well. “Where’s Harry?” Ron whispered, the moment he opened his eyes.

“Dunno, I walked into a wicked jinx the moment I flooed through,” Draco whispered back.

“It’s Ginny,” Ron spat angrily.

“I figured,” Draco said, a little sarcastically. “How did she get through the wards?”

“No idea. The Fidelius wouldn’t have stopped her, because she’s known the secret since we moved in, but Hermione’s wards are strong.”

“We have to find them,” Draco said. “Who knows what she’s doing to Harry.”

“Yeah. Cut me loose?”

Draco free them both quickly, but it took ten more agonizing minutes before Hermione regained consciousness. Ron had raced through the house the moment he’d been set free, and Draco could hear his shout of relief when he found Rose, completely unharmed, in her crib.

Ron quickly sent a Patronus to his boss, and then they searched the house, but to no avail. Harry and Ginny were both gone. Ron apparated to Harry and Ginny’s flat, but returned with a shake of his head a few minutes later. “No sign of them.”

A quick floo through to the Burrow later, they’d confirmed that Molly hadn’t seen Harry or Ginny either, and Ron dropped off Rose for some time with her grandparents.

“That bitch,” Draco said lowly, and Ron looked for a moment like he might take offence, but he shrugged instead.

“Ron, you’re sure that she wouldn’t be brewing at the Burrow?”

“How do you think that she’d explain it, Hermione? Don’t mind me, Mum, I’m just brewing Harry’s illegal love potion.”

“Well, she might say she was brewing something cosmetic, or bruise salve.”

“Do you think my mum raised Fred and George to adulthood without recognizing bruise salve?”

“What about a contraceptive potion? Could she have told your mum that?” Draco asked.

At this Ron guffawed. Even Hermione looked amused. “Molly would be madder about that than she would about the love potion, I think. She's quite pro-grandchildren,” she said. “Alright, fine, she’s not using the Burrow. Unless she’s maybe using your dad’s shed, or the broom shed?”

“I doubt it,” Draco said, “these potions are delicate, and take ages. They have to be stewed under moonlight for some time. I don’t think that a shed that someone uses often would work. It has to be somewhere that she can leave it without raising suspicion, and honestly, I don’t see this being possible in anything other than a proper lab.”

“Well, if we could brew Polyjuice in a bathroom, I’m sure she could find a way,” Hermione said, as if thinking to herself. Draco had many follow up questions to that statement, but resolved to get answers later. “She couldn’t be sneaking back to Hogwarts. Do you think she was renting a space?”

“How could she afford it?” Ron said. "She’s still making crap money as a reserve with the Harpies, and Harry hasn’t given her a key to his vault yet. I walked in on them fighting about it one day. Ginny was in a right strop, but Harry said that it was his parents’ money, and he didn’t feel right spending it.”

“And she doesn’t know anyone who would have a potions lab?” Draco said. “A friend from school or something?”

Suddenly, Ron’s face tightened. “Fred had a lab,” he said.

“George warded it up after the war!” Hermione cried. “Said he couldn’t bear to use it anymore.”

“Let’s go,” Ron said. 

In his anxiety over Harry, Draco didn’t even realize before he was stepping through the floo into the offices at Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes. For a moment, his stomach lurched, and he thought he’d stop breathing, but Hermione gave him an urgent look, and he blinked hard and shook his head to try to clear his thoughts, and raced up the stairs after her.

Ron dismantled the wards, just as George came up the stairs. “Oi, what are you doing?” His voice was indignant. “You can’t go in there!” He stopped short when he saw Draco, “Malfoy,” he said evenly, his voice losing a lot of its ire in place of curiosity.

“George, I can explain,” Ron said hurriedly. “It’s Gin. We found out that she’s been dosing Harry with a love potion.”

“You’re barking,” George said with a grin. “Little Ginny? I don’t believe it.”

“Please George,” Hermione begged, “could we just look at the lab, just to make sure? Ginny stunned us and took Harry somewhere.”

All of his good humour gone, George dispelled the rest of the wards with a wave of his wand. As the door creaked open, Ron and Hermione rushed in, and George stood, completely still, in the hallway.

“Alright, Weasley?” Draco said in a quiet voice.

“Yeah,” George said absently.

“Do you mind if I go in and have a look? I don’t mean to intrude, but I’m more likely to know what to look for.”

“Yeah, whatever, if it’s for Harry,” George said, his eyes still on the door, and his tone distant.

Draco stepped through the door, and with a calculating gaze, took inventory. Rose petals, lavender, Irish moss, feverfew. And, a tiny vial of nearly-empty Ashwinder eggs. He gave a short nod to Ron and Hermione, and Ron called out, “Hey George?”

From the hallway, George said, “Yeah?”

“Did you use Ashwinder Eggs in your love potions, when you were brewing them?”

“Merlin, Ron, of course we didn’t. It’s a regulated substance, you twit. Do you think we wanted Aurors swooping in to arrest us?”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Ron muttered. He cast a quick spell, and said, “Gin’s magical signature is here as well. I don’t see anything to help us find Harry, but at least we have more evidence to support our theory.”

“Well, her technique is all wrong,” Draco couldn’t resist saying. “These cauldrons show signs of cross contamination, and I think she’s omitted the Grains of Paradise completely. It’s lucky that all she did was make him little. At any rate, at least I know what recipe she was trying to follow.”

“If she has dosed him, do you think that he’ll de-age again?” Hermione asked worriedly.

“I don’t think so,” Draco said. “The half-life of the Imperius vaccination is about two weeks, and we’re past that now.”

“Ironic, isn’t it?” Ron mused. “Harry can overthrow the Imperius. He didn’t need the vaccination anyhow.”

Draco looked at him in shock. “Well why-”

“DMLE bureaucracy at its finest. The policy said we all needed to take it, so it wouldn’t have mattered what Harry said.”

“That’s mad,” Draco grumbled.

“None of this is helping us find Harry,” Hermione said. “Ron, think, where would Ginny go?”

“I don’t know, Hermione! It’s not like when she was little, and she’d go off to the fort when she wanted to be secretive.”

“What fort?” Draco asked quickly.

“Bill and Charlie built it before they went to Hogwarts, but we all used to play there. It was just over the hill, beyond the orchard. By the time all of the boys were big enough to ride brooms, we forgot about it, but you know how Mom was. She wouldn’t let Gin fly until she was nine, and even then only on a training broom. So Gin adopted the fort as her playhouse. Made Dad ward it so that no boys could get in.”

“It couldn’t still be standing, could it?” Hermione asked.

George said, “Dad reinforced it with all the same charms on the house. Said he wouldn’t have it falling down around our ears while we were playing. Freddie and I used to camp out there some nights.” He sounded wistful, and Ron touched his arm lightly.

“Well then,” Draco said, “I suppose it’s time you showed me where you lot grew up, Weasleys.”

They apparated to a spot just outside the gates of the Burrow. Molly came to the door. “Kids,” she said with a big smile, “and Draco Malfoy? My goodness.”

“Nice to see you, Mrs. Weasley,” Draco said politely.

“It’s Molly, dear. I know that your family and ours don’t get on, but after our Harry stood up for you after the War, you haven’t caused a spot of trouble. I’d say it’s time to let bygones be bygones.”

Draco wondered for a moment if her easy forgiveness would be rescinded once she realized that they were going after her daughter, but gave her a weak little smile.

“Come in, come in!” Molly cried, bustling them inside. The house was cluttered, and well-lived-in, and for a moment, Draco’s childhood prejudices and his adulthood anxieties clashed in an enormous wail of panic at entering such a place. Then, he thought of Harry, and he shoved the anxiety into a sturdy box within his mind, just as he’d once occluded his thoughts from the Dark Lord, and didn’t stop walking.

He’d noticed that, from time to time, Hermione would give him an appraising look, as though to gauge his emotional stability, and she did this now. Draco gave her a tight smile, and she quickly looked away, but he was secretly grateful that she understood that this was beyond a stretch of his fortitude.

Ron was saying, “…tea later, Mum, we just need to go check on something beyond the orchard.”

“What could you possibly be looking for there?” 

Molly was a little indignant that her tea was being refused, but George said smoothly, “Settling a bet, back in a tick,” and shepherded them through the kitchen and out the back door as quickly as they’d entered.

Draco could hear Molly muttering to herself and banging pots and pans around, but he followed the Weasleys like a duckling as they crossed the wide orchard and down a hill.

The fort wasn’t there. Nothing was. The hollow stretched back up into another hill, and, other than a lone sheep who appeared to have wandered in by accident, there was no sign of life. “That’s odd,” George said conversationally. He seemed to be taking the entire situation in stride and had an odd look in his eyes, as though this were the most excitement he’d seen in weeks.

“Where did it go?” Ron said, frowning.

“Tricky minx. She’s cast disillusionment wards.” George grinned, and Draco wondered what it would have been like to have had someone like him for a brother. He didn’t seem too concerned about the whole situation, but Draco supposed that one took these sort of things in stride when one was friends with Harry. With a quick wave of his wand, the wards dropped, and a tiny shack, almost identical to the Burrow, but in miniature, appeared before them.

“Your dad doesn’t do anything by half,” Hermione said, looking on in awe.

Ron smiled at the structure fondly. “Yeah, well, Charlie and Bill built it, mostly, Dad just helped with the magic.” Again, Draco wondered what it would have been like to grow up here, surrounded by others, amidst noise and chaos, and people who hugged, and yelled and laughed, and teased, and just…loved you. 

His attention was diverted by the sounds of rising voices from within the structure. “Looks like we’ve found them,” he said quietly. “What’s the plan?”

Hermione and Ron looked at one another and laughed. “Remember what I said Draco? We don’t plan anymore,” Hermione said, through her giggles. “Harry pointed out once that we plan, and then it all goes to crap anyway, and we just blunder through. The appeal of planning rather wore off after that.”

“Like knowing how the sausage is made,” Draco said, apropos of nothing, and all three of them gave him a slightly confused look.

“Right,” George said, “Wands at the ready, my darlings,” and he stepped forward and opened the door. They crept inside and peered around the corner, where a small sitting room lay. Draco cast a wordless disillusionment charm on them all, just to be on the safe side. Hermione nodded her approval.

Harry was sitting on a poorly transfigured sofa, his arms and legs bound, and he was glaring at Ginny. Draco had forgotten how Harry’s eyes looked when he was truly angry. They were beautiful. It struck him as strange that he was glaring, however. If Ginervra had given him the potion, he ought to look like a lovesick cow. Ginny’s face was red, and her arms were crossed defiantly across her chest. “Harry, if you’ll just listen,” Ginny begged.

“I won’t, and you can’t keep me here. You’re a nutter,” Harry said mulishly. 

“I don’t understand,” Ginny wailed. “Why isn’t it working?”

“Do you often find that people are interested in spending time with you when you stun them and kidnap them?”

“If we could just talk, you’d understand, Harry. I think you’re confused, maybe someone’s cursed you, but you love me, Harry. We’re together.”

“I don’t love you. I love…well I don’t love you, that’s for sure. Besides that, nobody’s cursed me, but you’ve assaulted me. I know all about the stupid potions.”

Ginny screeched with rage, and raised her wand. Four voices yelled, “Expelliarmus!” Ginny’s wand flew from her hand, and in their general direction. The force of the disarmament was so violent that it chucked Ginny backward and against a wall, where she crumpled in an unattractive heap. Draco felt a tiny thrill of schadenfreude, which he tried, unsuccessfully, to tamp down. (He was still human, after all.) He quickly dispelled the disillusionment, and they stepped around the corner. Ron ran to Harry’s side and started untying the ropes that were binding Harry.

“Ron! Hermione! George!” Harry’s voice was joyous, as he took them all in. Then he looked beyond them, to where Draco stood awkwardly, unsure of his reception. “Draco,” he said, his voice softer, and his expression transfixed. “Draco, you came! You came to rescue me.”

“Are you alright, Harry?” Hermione asked. Harry didn’t seem to hear her at first, so firmly were his eyes locked with Draco’s.

She touched his arm, and he shook his head a little, then smiled at her. “I’m fine,” he said dreamily. “Thanks for coming to get me, guys.”

Ron was busily casting spells on Ginny, and he sent a Patronus to the Aurors, who appeared quickly. Draco idly wondered whether it was Harry’s name that had prompted their fast response, or if Ron himself warranted such service.

Ginny, who had come to when the Aurors apparated in, was screaming abuse at her brothers, at Hermione, at Harry. She ignored Draco completely, which, in retrospect, was fine by Draco. As a young, fresh-faced Auror who looked like he’d just stepped out of Hogwarts placed the cuffs around her wrists, she descended into hysterical sobs. “Harry,” she wept. “I love you. I only did this because I love you.”

Harry ignored her completely, his eyes still on Draco. He’d gotten quiet during the excitement of Ginny’s arrest, and was watching Draco as if he held the secrets of the universe.

“Mom’s going to flip out,” George warned Ron, who paled. “You just arrested her baby girl.”

“Well, her baby girl ought to have considered the consequences before she potioned my best friend,” he said defensively.

George grinned. “You tell her that.”

“Shut up, George. You have to help me.”

“Nuh-uh,” George said, his grin widening. “I’m going back to the store. I’d suggest that you get in touch with Bill. He can arrange a solicitor for Gin through the bank.”

Harry seemed to have become more aware of the conversation. “Oh no,” he said. “Molly’s going to hate me.”

“No she won’t,” Hermione said firmly. “You’re the victim, here. She’ll understand, Harry. You’ll see.”

“I have to go,” Harry said suddenly. “I can’t be here, when you tell your parents. I have to go. Where can I go? What do I do?” He seemed suffused by panic, and Draco understood. Sometimes, the horror of a situation came in waves, each one more overwhelming than the previous one.

“You can go back to our house, mate,” Ron said kindly.

Harry looked dubious. “I…” He looked at Draco, and said, “Would you take me to your house?”

Draco felt his eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “I…Certainly. Ron, do you need us to make statements or anything?”

“Nah, not right now,” Ron said. “I’ve got memories to show them. We’ll need each of you to formally put something down before her trial, but I can come by later and arrange things. I think it’s not a bad idea to get Harry away for a bit. Maybe stay at Draco’s for a few days.”

Luminous, heartbreaking green eyes met Draco’s alight with hope. “Could I?”

Draco smiled, “Has anything in the past few weeks given you the impression that you’re unwelcome?”

Harry considered this for a moment and his smile, impossibly, widened. “Let's go then,” he said, a little shyly.


	14. Chapter 14

As they stepped through the floo and into his lab, Harry looked around in dismay. “What happened?” 

Draco had honestly forgotten his little tantrum from earlier, and his face reddened. “I found it a little difficult to go out,” he said stiffly.

Harry looked at him with understanding, and that shy little smile from before crossed his features again. “And you still came to get me.”

“I told you I’d keep you safe,” Draco said, his voice still sounding formal and tight.

“So you did,” Harry said lightly, but something about the way that Harry was looking at him set alarm bells ringing in Draco’s mind.

“So, tea, and then a chat, I suppose,” he said, just as lightly.

When they were settled with tea, Draco looked out the window into the back garden. A pair of house sparrows were hopping about in one of the flowerbeds. One of them flew into a hedge, and the other quickly followed. As a third sparrow joined them the original two reacted with fury, and flew at the interloper, who quickly returned from whence it came. The pair flew back into the dirt, and one took a dust bath while the other watched, alert, for predators.

“Thank you,” Harry’s voice broke the silence. “For saving me, I mean.”

“I didn’t do much,” Draco admitted, “Ron and Hermione would have found you.”

“You left your house for me. You came to keep me safe.”

“A promise is a promise,” Draco said, and Harry smiled. “I wondered if you wanted to talk about what happened?”

“No,” said Harry immediately. Draco nodded, and returned to watching the sparrows. It didn’t take long for Harry to say, “Gin’s mad, you know.”

“Mmmhm?” Draco asked, not removing his eyes from the window.

“I dunno why she ended up at Ron and Hermione’s…Merlin was it only yesterday? Feels like longer. She was furious when she found me there. Screamed at Ron and Hermione, made Rose cry.”

“I expect she was upset that you hadn’t told her you were back.”

“She was more annoyed when I asked her about whether or not she’d been dosing me,” Harry said, and Draco snorted.

“Oh Harry, it didn’t occur to you to be a bit subtle?” Draco turned to look at him.

“Nah, not my style, really.” Harry grinned at Draco, and for a moment, the breath caught in Draco’s throat. He was so beautiful. 

Harry, oblivious, continued, “Anyhow, she got more and more worked up, and Ron finally lost his temper, and made a move for his wand, and she stunned the lot of us. Next thing I knew, I woke up in that weird little shack, tied to a chair.”

“Were you scared?” Draco asked.

“A bit, I mean, she’d managed to make me believe I loved her for all those years. What was to stop her from doing it again?’

“And did she,” Draco asked, “do it again?”

"When I woke up in the shack, she wasn’t angry anymore. Gin…she’s the youngest of the family, and the only girl. She’s well used to being able to talk people around. If they don’t listen to her persuasion, she has a temper that usually gets everyone to comply. She talked for a long time, about how our relationship was good, and how I’d grown to love her once, and I would again. She talked about how I had finally gotten the family that I wanted, in the Weasleys, and all I had to do was say that I’d stay with her, and this could all be forgotten.”

Harry sighed, and ran his hands through his hair. He removed his glasses, and cleaned them with the tail of his t-shirt before he replaced them on his nose. “And then I said that all of those things were true, but that I’d had enough of being lied to and manipulated long before she and I got together, and I’d never be able to have a relationship with someone when I couldn’t trust them.” His eyes met Draco’s for a moment, and they looked unbearably sad. “She didn’t take that well. She told me that nobody else would ever want anyone as damaged as me, that her whole family pitied me, and only allowed me to come around because of her. She said that when they were faced with a choice between me and her, there’d be no question of who they picked.”

Draco knew that it was unlikely that anyone could think of something to hurt Harry more. Fury rose in him as he considered how callous Ginervra could be.

“And then she said, since I wasn’t interested in doing things the easy way, we could do things the hard way. She plugged my nose until I had to breathe through my mouth, and poured the potion down my throat.”

“Wait. She actually gave you the potion?”

“Yeah,” Harry laughed. “She must be as crap at potions as me. It didn’t work.” He beamed at Draco. 

“I wonder why,” Draco said. “It worked all the other times.”

“Who knows? Anyway, that didn’t make her nearly as mad as she got when I told her I was in love with someone else.”

“You are?” Draco felt astonished and disappointed all in one go. He hadn’t ever expected to have a chance with Harry, not since he had realized that his distain for Harry-bloody-Potter was a thinly-veiled front for a very different set of feelings. Still, it was unpleasant to have the rug pulled out from under him, and he felt his face pull down into the blank expression that had kept him safe for most of his life. “How nice for you.”

Harry’s expression faltered. He looked uncertainly at Draco, who resolved to give him absolutely nothing in return. “Well, yeah. There’s been someone that I’ve been fascinated with for most of my life, it seems. I’ve never told him how I felt, though.”

Draco’s mind registered the 'him' with a detached little pang. So it was true. Harry was gay, and no longer with Ginny, and in love with someone else. He tried to tell himself to be happy for him. If anyone deserved to find someone to love him, it was Harry, and he had known that his feelings were unrealistic. _Tomorrow_ , he resolved. _I’ll be happy for him tomorrow_.

He stood, a little stiffly, and took their dishes to the kitchen. He put them in the sink, a little harder than necessary, and started to wash them. One cup in particular seemed to have a hint of a tea stain on it, and so he concentrated hard on eradicating it. As he rubbed the soapy sponge on the cup, over and over, he blinked hard to keep his stupid, foolish tears at bay.

Some time later, quite some time, if his wrinkled fingertips were any indication, he looked up to see Harry standing quietly at the counter beside him. He was very still, and was watching as Draco cleaned the cup, over and over. Embarrassed by the audience to his ritual, Draco put the cup down. “Sorry,” he said, “got a little carried away.”

“It’s fine,” Harry said. “I can’t help but feel like I upset you though.”

“Why would I be upset?”

“That’s what I’ve been standing here trying to sort out,” Harry answered. “Draco, you know I’m crap at expressing myself, right?” When Draco nodded stiffly, he continued, “Well, I can’t figure out if I just did a bad job of telling you how I feel, or if you did understand, and you’re angry with me. Draco, would you look at me for a second?”

Feeling the tears threaten again, Draco wasn’t sure if he could, but after a tense silence, his looked up into Harry’s deep green eyes. They were filled with uncertainty, and there was something that looked like dwindling hope. “So do you?” Harry asked softly. “Do you realize that I was trying to tell you that I’m in love with you?”

His heart had stopped. That was the only explanation for this strange dream universe where Harry was saying the words he’d always wanted to hear. But Harry was still looking at him, waiting for a response. Draco wordlessly shook his head.

“You didn’t realize that I was saying that?” Harry persisted. Draco shook his head again, words utterly failing him. Harry smiled a bit uncertainly. “It’s okay if you don’t feel the same way,” he said. “but I just wanted you to know.”

“I…” Draco said, and then a sudden realization hit him. The potion. The love potion Ginervra had given him had obviously had unexpected results. It was the only explanation. The tiny bubble of hope that had been rising, unnoticed, inside him, fell back to his toes with a thump and Draco thought maybe that he might die. Inside, he was wailing like his much younger self had when his parents had answered his pleas for a dragon with a Crup. He wanted this, he would give anything for this, but it wasn’t real.

For a split second, he thought about telling Harry exactly how he felt. Then, he remembered. He wanted to do the right thing. Cursing his stupid, stupid, recently developed conscience, he realized, it would be temporary anyway. He might have Harry for a day, maybe a couple of days, but Ginervra’s terrible potion would wear off, and Harry would hate him for having taken advantage of him. The worst part was, if he tried to convince Harry that he was under the influence, he’d never believe Draco.

“Harry,” he said, looking down at his hands, trying to be kind, despite the disappointed voice inside him that was wailing in dismay “I…” He sighed, examined his hands again, and tried once more. “I care about you so much…”

“But you don’t feel the same way,” Harry said, his voice heavy with resignation. “I understand, Draco, don’t worry.”

“It’s not…I don’t…” Draco stammered weakly.

He looked into Harry’s eyes, and, although Harry's eyes communicated his disappointment, his voice was steady. “Please, Draco, don’t try to let me down gently. It’s fine.”

How had this all gone so wrong? “You’ll thank me someday, Harry. I’d be terrible for you. I’m not the easiest person to be around.” 

Draco tried to smile, but it fell terribly short.

Suddenly, Harry gave him an inscrutable look. “So you’re not at all interested in me? You don’t feel that way about me at all?”

It was the hardest thing he’d ever done. “I don’t,” Draco said. 

Harry flinched, but looked hard at Draco. “Really,” he said flatly. “Nothing more than friendship?”

“No,” Draco whispered.

Harry looked so devastated, that Draco was unsure if he’d ever be able to recover from this terrible conversation. “You think I’m saying this because of the potion. You don’t think I know how I feel.”

Draco felt his eyebrows lifting as he struggled weakly to answer. “Harry, I-”

“You still think it’s more important to protect me, then to tell me the truth and let us deal with it together. Draco,” Harry said, and then he gave a frustrated wave of his hands, and apparated away. His name on Harry’s lips sounded so hopeless that Draco knew he’d chosen wrong. In his efforts to do the right thing, he’d lost Harry completely.

He waited six terrible hours before he broke down and sent one line, scrawled on a parchment, to Hermione:

_Is he safe?_

She replied by return owl:

_Dear Draco,_

_He’s safe, but terribly upset. I don’t blame you, I understand what you thought, and why you reacted the way you did. I might have done the same myself. He needs space, though. He’s not ready to talk._

_Draco, I don’t want to betray his confidence, but I want you to know. Harry’s confession may have seemed to have come out of the blue, but it hasn’t really. And you have to understand, he’s been lied to, or had information withheld from him for his whole life. The Dursley’s, Dumbledore, even Sirius. All under the guise of what was best for him. I can’t blame him, if I’m being honest._

_We’ve got him, Draco. We’ve helped him through worse, before. There’s nobody stronger than Harry, and he’ll be okay, but he’s asked me to tell you to leave him alone._

_But Draco, here’s the thing…I think you’re good for each other, and I want you both to be happy. I’m rooting for you. For both of you._

_Love,  
Hermione._

Draco held the parchment so tightly that it crumpled. To have been so close to his most treasured desire, and then let his instincts chase it away…he wanted to howl, to beat his fists against the wall, to climb into his bed and never emerge. He did none of those, however, and merely sat down unsteadily at the table, and breathed, and examined his hands. 

The Dark Mark, less dark these days, still stood starkly against the pale skin of his left wrist. He’d once thought of trying to remove it, to shear off the skin, or to brew a potion that would bleach it away. Instead, he’d left it, a constant reminder of his inability to tell right from wrong, a brand that told everyone that he was someone who allowed others to be hurt.

He'd been so sure that having Harry with him had been his opportunity to finally prove to himself (and others, if he were being honest) that he’d changed, that his actions were now morally correct. But the memory of the anguish on Harry’s face when Draco had lied to protect him showed him that he was wrong. He couldn’t change. True, he’d never be truly evil, would never again follow the dark footsteps of another, but he was no more able to protect others than he’d been as a terrified sixteen year old.

He had known that he didn’t deserve someone like Harry, could never live up to being worthy of him. And now, life had reminded him of the fact. He suddenly remembered something that Snape had asked him, often, during the year he’d been trying to fix the Vanishing Cabinet. “Draco, you’re acting with your emotions. Ask yourself, ‘What would the Slytherin do?’”

So what would the Slytherin do, when forced to accept that he’d never have what he wanted, that he would never atone for his previous sins? For a while, Draco had no idea what the Slytherin would do, but eventually, as dawn streaked across the sky, he understood. The Slytherin would forget about Harry. The Slytherin would get busy making a life for himself, one that didn’t need to include something he couldn’t have. So, Draco resolved, he had his answer. And he would do so, as soon as he’d had a chance to regroup, find his footing again. The Slytherin would also indulge his disappointment and hurt feelings a little. He’d go home to his Mother.


	15. Chapter 15

And so he did. He fell through the floo, frightening a House Elf, who gasped, and then fetched his Mother. She appeared in the floo room with a concerned expression on her face. “Darling,” she said softly, “what’s happened?”

“I’ve lost him, Mother. Lost him forever.” He didn’t cry, but it was a near thing. For the first time since he’d been a child of eleven, his mother knelt on the floor beside him, gathered him into her arms, and pressed gentle kisses on his forehead.

After they’d sat there a while, Draco basking in the comfort of his mother, Narcissa spoke. “What shall we do to get him back, then?”

Draco smiled. “I’m afraid there’s nothing to do, Mother. I’ve hurt him, if unintentionally, and he doesn’t trust me anymore. If I were to push him now, I’d only drive him further away. All I can do is try to be a better man than I was, and learn from this.”

“You’re already the most wonderful man,” she assured him. 

“You’re biased.”

“I’m not,” she insisted. “You’ve worked so hard to overcome the circumstances that life has dealt you. You amaze me, every day. But,” she sighed, “perhaps you’re right about not pushing. What will you do instead?”

“I don’t know. Life my life, I suppose. A real one, if I can manage it, one that’s not hidden away behind wards.”

His return to Lara was better, and worse than he’d hoped. She didn’t tell him “I told you so,” but she was a little _too_ supportive of his intent to give up on Harry and make a life of his own. It hurt, the acknowledgement that it wasn’t going to happen, but he knew that it wasn’t doing him any good to sit around moping. (Even if he did indulge in a little mope from time to time. He wasn’t perfect, after all.) The worst part was how aggressively she adjusted his treatment plan. She’d been content before to lead him slowly down the path to improved mental health, but it appeared that she was simply waiting for him to find the motivation in himself before she put the pressure on.

Draco _hated_ the homework she assigned, and often found himself, sweaty and trembling, standing on his front step, trying desperately to muster the courage to apparate somewhere. He’d found it strange at first that she’d sent him off to strictly Muggle destinations, but soon realized that the anonymity of the Muggle world allowed him to become more comfortable with exposure to the danger therein After all, none of the Muggles were watching him fall apart, trying to enter a Library. 

It was nearly Christmas time when Lara looked up at him expectantly and said, “Well then, Draco, I wanted to discuss something with you.”

“Oh?” Draco asked, surprised. Lara rarely brought anything up anymore. Usually, Draco was the one driving their sessions, as he talked, stream-of-consciousness about the things he’d done, and learned, and how funny he thought that some of the Muggle things he’d seen were.

“Well, as you know, we’re nearly finished our regular sessions together. You’ve done beautifully, and you have so much to be proud of.” Draco flushed and grinned, and Lara continued, “I really only think that there’s one thing that we haven’t resolved.”

“What’s that?” Draco wondered, taking a sip of the excellent coffee he’d bought at the Muggle shop with the unrealistic-looking mermaid sign.

“Harry,” Lara said simply, and Draco inhaled a gulp of the hot beverage. When he’d finished coughing, and cleaned the front of his robes, she smiled at him. “Sorry about that. You were hoping that we’d never bring him up again, weren't you?”

“Kind of,” Draco admitted. “I don’t think that there’s much to say. He’s better now, I’m sure. I see Hermione every so often, and sometimes he comes up in conversation. I don’t really think about him at all.” This, of course, was a blatant lie. Draco thought about him often, at odd times. Harry’s bedroom in Draco's flat had been turned into an office, but sometimes Draco lingered outside, and remembered the way his head had smelled as a baby, warm, and a little sweet, as though he were a biscuit, and not a little boy at all. Sometimes, in the Muggle world on his ‘field trips’, he wondered if Harry had eaten popcorn at a cinema. Once, he saw a delightfully ill-tempered swan, who haughtily swooped around beside a pond, and it reminded him so much of Professor Snape that he’d longed to be able to bring Harry and show him.

“Ah, I see. So you have no desire to see him again?”

“Desire’s a funny thing,” Draco mused. “Of course I’d love to see him again, but it isn’t likely to happen, and I seem to have stopped pining for things I can’t have.”

“That’s good,” Lara affirmed. “If you did see him, what do you suppose you’d say?”

Draco thought for a moment. “I think I’d say that I was sorry he was so hurt by what I did. It’s a terrible thing to have your trust abused, and I’d never have wished that for him. But, I also wouldn’t have done things any differently, not on the whole. If Harry _had_ been potioned, it would have been unconscionable to have taken advantage of that. And if I’d told him the truth about how I felt while he was under the influence, he would have done everything in his power to win me over.” Draco took another sip of his coffee. “Merlin, that’s amazing. Muggles are very clever when it comes to coffee. Anyhow, obviously he doesn’t see it that way, and he can’t find it in himself to forgive me, but that’s something that I can’t change. If he’s not willing to give me a chance to apologize, or to start over, or…well, if he’s not willing to give us a chance, then I suppose he didn’t really like me as much as he thought he did, and there’s nothing I can do about that either.”

To Draco’s surprise, Lara jumped to her feet and started to clap. “Well done, Draco. My goodness, you’ve come so far. Even six months ago, you would have been telling me that you had to do something to prove to him that you deserved a chance. Accepting that you’re not responsible for other peoples’ feelings is such a huge step. We discussed this before, ages ago, but I suspect that Harry’s past might make it very difficult for him to extend trust to others. It was an unfortunate circumstance, but you acted in the most honourable way you knew, and if he’s not able to accept that…”

“Then it wasn’t meant to be,” Draco said.

“But what about the postcard?” Lara asked. “Now that you have a little distance from the event, I wondered if you’d considered what it meant.”

“Nope, still baffled,” Draco said. On Hallowe’en, an owl had arrived, with a strange old-fashioned Muggle postcard held in its beak. The postcard depicted a hilly scene, and in the forefront was a man, riding a chicken with a woman’s face. Bold red print along the top said ‘you can’t drive the chickens here’. The opposite side had no message, other than a hastily scrawled ‘Harry’. It remained inexplicable. For a while, Draco had wondered if there was some type of cryptic message. Was he calling _Draco_ a chicken? Eventually, he’d given up on deciphering it, and had stuck it to one of his cupboard doors with Spellotape. When he looked at it now, it made him smile, but he still didn’t know what had possessed Harry to send it.

“Do you suppose that it was his way of trying to open up the lines of communication?”

“Merlin, I hope not. If that’s how he indicates his interest, we’ll never get anywhere. I imagine he found that weird postcard somewhere, and sent it without thinking about what it might mean.”

“So did it?”

“Did it what? Open the lines of communication? Of course not. I left well enough alone.”

“I didn’t imagine I’d ever hear myself say these words, Draco, but I honestly think that you’re in a healthy enough place that, if you still wanted to pursue it, I can’t see any reason why it would be unhealthy. I can’t imagine why you’d want to, when there are easily ten dozen men who would be less work, but…”

“I have your blessing,” Draco said, smiling.

“Not that you need it, but yes, I suppose.”

Draco did nothing for another week, in that, he thought constantly about Harry, but made no moves toward contacting him. After waking on the morning of the seventh day, interrupting a dream that featured Harry’s bright eyes fixed on his, and his arms around his neck, he gave in, and sent an owl 'round to Hermione.

She arrived mid-morning, Rose perched on her hip. Draco kissed her cheek, which made her eyebrows shoot skyward, and then reached out for Rose. “Hello, little one,” he said. “You’ve grown rather a lot since I last saw you.”

Rose chuckled, and launched herself into Draco’s arms, where he jounced her slightly, evoking deep belly laughs from the baby. “Draco,” Hermione said, “you…you’re looking wonderful. You’re doing so well!”

He nodded his thanks, and set the kettle boiling. When they’d settled with their tea, and Rose had been given a rusk that Hermione produced from her handbag, she looked at him expectantly.

“What’s changed? I know you’ve been working hard with Lara, but you seem so different.”

“It’s nothing more than hard work, and a bit of luck, I suppose. Mental health isn’t always the same as physical health. You can’t predict how quickly or slowly someone’s symptoms change, or if they will at all. I’ve done a lot of things that I didn’t expect I would over the last while, and I’ve come a long way. I imagine I’ll always have the odd intrusive thought, and be prone to some compulsions under stress, but they’re much easier to overcome right now.”

“Honestly, Draco, I’m so thrilled for you. Well done.”

“Thanks. I’m thrilled for me too. How have you been? It’s been ages since we caught up. How’s Ron, and the rest of his family?”

“They’re okay,” Hermione said, a little sadly. “Molly and Arthur took it awfully hard that Ginny had assaulted Harry like that, and for so many years. Molly felt that it was her fault, but it was also really hard that her only daughter was taken away from her. I don’t know if you read about it, it was in the papers of course, but Harry insisted that she not go to Azkaban. She’s in a secure mental health facility, but it will be years before she’s out. Ron’s fine. Says he wants you to meet him for a drink? Something about you having promised him one?”

Draco laughed, “I’d like that. Tell him I’ll owl him after the holidays.”

“So now what?” Hermione said expectantly. “You’re, I assume, no longer a prisoner in your own home. What will you do next?”

“That depends,” Draco said. “There’s a part of me that still feels a bit unsettled, I still need to resolve…”

“Harry,” Hermione said knowingly.

“Yeah. I just need to know whether to give up and walk away. I’d largely resigned myself to there being no hope, but, I still think about him all the time. I don’t want to put you in an awkward position, but I also think that you know him best. Is it kinder to leave well enough alone?”

“Honestly, Draco? I really don’t know. Harry’s never been exactly forthcoming with his feelings. I suggested that he go on a date with a man I know in my office, and he was…reluctant to consider it.”

Draco grinned. “Did he shout at you?”

“Yes, and then he shut his floo for a week.”

“Well, then it seems that he isn’t ready for dating. Damnit, if it wasn’t for that stupid postcard, I’d have already given up. Why is he so hard to understand?”

Hermione gave him a sharp look. “What postcard?”

Draco summoned it from the cupboard door and handed it to her. 

“That’s…”

“Incomprehensible, I know,” Draco sighed.

“Yes, but Draco, I _saw_ it. I saw him send it. Hallowe’en, right?” At Draco’s nod, she continued, “Hallowe’en is always a fairly difficult time for Harry, he misses his mum and dad. But I saw him with that postcard, and when he sent it off with the owl, I asked him who he was sending it to.”

“What did he say?”

He gave me this sad little smile, and said that he was just throwing a Knut into a wishing well.”

“Well what the fuck does that mean?” Draco shouted, his temper getting the best of him.

“I don’t know. But it doesn’t sound like he’s over you any more than you’re over him.”

It wasn’t long before Rose got cranky, and Hermione had to get her home to nap. Draco sat, finishing his tea, and pondered the situation. That was when the idea came to him. He’d give it one last try, and if it didn’t work out, at least he’d know.

A week later, it was Christmas eve, and Draco had finally settled on a plan. He’d spent the week making floo calls all over England, and in the end, it was Hagrid who had helped him find what he was looking for. After travelling to Scarborough, and handing over a truly shocking number of galleons, he was now on his way to Devon, his nerves in no way lessening at the thought of what he was about to do. He’d checked with Hermione, to make sure his plan wasn’t completely mad, and she’d been overwhelmingly enthusiastic. Still though, this could go so wrong, and the chance for humiliation was so high. 

The bundle in his arms was growing heavy, and he was relieved to see the odd shape of the Burrow looming in front of him. He hitched his armload into a more comfortable position, and opened the front gate. As he approached the door, it became clear that there was a houseful inside, and they were having a terribly good time. At first, he thought that the noise level was too great inside for them to hear his knock, but it wasn’t long before the door flung open, and the slightly inebriated face of Arthur Weasley appeared in front of him. “Hello there,” he said genially. “You’re not one of mine, are you?”

“No, sir,” Draco said. “My name is Draco.”

“Of course it is!” Mister Weasley roared in what Draco fervently hoped was delight. Given the blood feud between their families, a roar could really mean anything. “You’re the one who raised our Harry, the second time!”

“Arthur, I told you not to answer the door when you’ve been into that elven wine,” a scolding voice said from behind Mister Weasley. He looked momentarily shamefaced before beaming at Draco, and patting him soundly on the shoulder. Mrs. Weasley shooed him back into the house before regarding Draco. “Hello there, dear. It’s nice to see you again.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Weasley, it’s lovely to see you as well. Merry Christmas,” Draco said, instinctively falling back on the manners that had been drilled into him since he could speak.

“Merry Christmas. I assume you’re here to see one of my lot. Please, come in!” Given the noise level from within, Draco was a little overwhelmed by the idea of entering, but he didn't fancy dragging this armload all the way back to London, so he stepped through the doorway, and followed Mrs. Weasley to a large parlour that seemed to be teeming with people. 

“Malfoy!” Ron bellowed, sounding delighted, his face nearly as red as Mister Weasley’s had been. “Come in! You’re just in time!”

“Am I?” Draco asked, in spite of himself. “Well, that’s good.” He didn’t really know what he was just in time for, so he looked around for Harry instead. He finally found the dark hair in a sea of red, sitting by the fire, Rose in his arms. He had his back to the room, and seemed to be telling the baby a story.

“Did you just come by to play poker?”

Draco stared at him. “Um, no. I came to see Harry, actually.” At the mention of his name, Harry turned, and looked at Draco in surprise. A series of expressions crossed his face, and then he finally settled on something that looked curious, or at least, not particularly hostile.

Draco took encouragement from this. “Harry, I was wondering if I could chat with you for a moment?”

“Okay,” Harry said, remaining exactly where he was. _Perhaps a little hostile_ , Draco thought.

“Okay,” Draco said. He waited a moment, in case Harry would take pity on him, and save him from having this conversation in front of a horde of curious Weasleys, but Harry merely looked at him, the polite, not-entirely-hostile look planted firmly on his face. Well, fine. Harry didn’t trust him to be alone with him, but he’d come all this way, and Harry’s present was getting awfully heavy. Fine. He’d do this stupid thing, and lay his heart bare for Harry, and then it would be over, and he could go to the Manor and the elves would give him brandy, and his Mother would say comforting things.

“Okay,” Draco repeated. “I’m not sure whether you’re ready to hear it yet, but I wanted to apologize for the way I acted the last time we saw each other. I know that I lied to you, even if my intentions were good, and I know that lying is something that you simply can’t tolerate, even if…especially if, it’s being done to protect you.”

He thought that maybe he saw a hint of Harry’s expression softening, but he continued. “I won’t make any excuses, because it doesn’t matter why I didn’t tell you the truth. I’ve lied to you before, and I promised I wouldn’t, and I broke that promise. But something’s been bothering me, because I also promised that you’d be safe, that I would make sure of it, and I can’t do that when we aren’t speaking. So…” His voice cracked and he swallowed hard, and continued, “so I brought you something, to keep you safe, and maybe to keep you company, and I’m not even sure if it’s something that you still want, so you don’t have to take it. In fact, I think maybe this was a stupid idea, and maybe I’ll be going now. I’m sorry to have disturbed you all.” 

Draco felt dangerously close to tears, and so he took a step backward, and was about to whirl around and run from the house when he heard Harry’s voice say, “Draco?” He looked at Harry, who was handing Rose off to Hermione. His face was unreadable now, and Draco wasn’t sure if he was about to hex him, or maybe to shout at Draco about how stupid and presumptuous he was. “Can I see what you brought me?”

The entire room was silent. Even the babies were quiet. The only sounds were the crackling of the fire, and a little whimper from within the blanket that Draco carried, as though its contents was waking from its nap and was curious about its surroundings. Harry took a step towards him, and Draco thrust the blankety lump towards him. Harry accepted it deftly, and unwrapped the blanket carefully. When the tiny brown-furred head poked out, Harry gasped. “Draco. It’s a dog. You got me a dog.”

“Er, yes. I’m sorry? I can take it back. Well, I don’t think I can, actually, that man didn’t seem like someone who’d give refunds, but I can keep him.” Draco reached out to take the puppy back, but Harry clutched it tighter.

“You got me a dog, Draco. You remembered that I wanted a dog, and you went and got me a dog.”

Draco still wasn’t sure if he was being chastised or thanked. “Yes. He’s a Labrador. He’ll get big enough to protect you, but he’ll be friendly as well. If…if you want him, that is.”

“If I want…Draco, it’s a dog,” Harry’s eyes had filled, and enormous tears were dripping onto the puppy’s head. The puppy looked up at him, and tried to lick his face. Harry laughed, which turned into a tiny sob, and tears continued to roll down his cheek unchecked. He buried his face into the puppy’s head, and it wriggled and tried to lick the tears away. “It’s a dog, for me. My very own dog.” Draco looked helplessly at Hermione, who was wiping away tears of her own. In fact, as he looked around the room, hoping that someone would help him navigate these unexpectedly emotional waters, he noticed that many of the Weasleys were crying. 

Since he hadn’t any idea why he’d set an entire family to tears, Draco started to back out of the room. He felt like he was intruding on something, but he still wasn’t sure what. Harry looked up then, and saw Draco awkwardly trying to escape. His eyes, made even more shiny than usual because of the tears, looked enormous. “Draco,” Harry said, and suddenly Draco didn’t think that he’d screwed up after all. They stared at each other for a long moment, neither of them moving. Then, suddenly, Harry was across the room in front of him, and he threw his arms around Draco’s neck, the puppy held awkwardly between them as Draco’s arms encircled Harry.

Later, Draco would be unable to remember whether he kissed Harry first, or if Harry had kissed him, but it didn’t matter, because once their lips met, nothing mattered other than holding him close. The puppy squirmed between them, and someone cleared their throat pointedly, which caused them to break apart, blushing. “Er, well, it’s been a long trip, and I forgot to give him a chance to wee before I brought him in. Harry, maybe we should take him outside for a bit?” Draco said finally.

“Yes. Yes, that’s…yes.” Harry said, and took Draco’s hand, leading him to the back door, holding the puppy with his other arm.

When they were standing in the yard, the puppy curiously snuffling around in the snow, Draco cast a warming charm on them both and looked at Harry seriously. “So, I think you like him. It was okay, that I did this?”

“God, Draco, of course,” Harry said. “This is the best present I ever got. This is better than the pictures of my parents and my invisibility cloak combined.”

“I’m glad,” Draco said, smiling. “I didn’t expect that I’d show up here with an adorable puppy and be automatically forgiven or something, but I just had to know. To see if we could maybe see each other sometimes, and maybe be friends, for real this time. And maybe…”

“Maybe more than friends?” Harry asked, and Draco flushed, looking away. “Draco, I’m sorry. I reacted badly because my feelings were hurt, and then I felt stupid, and then all that stuff with Ginny’s trial happened, and I didn’t know how to apologize.”

“So you sent me an inexplicable postcard?” Draco asked.

Harry laughed, and it was so joyful that Draco’s heart leapt. He hadn’t heard Harry laugh like that since he’d been a baby. “You got that, huh? I honestly don’t know what possessed me to send that. I was rummaging around an antique store in Brighton, and I saw it, and it made me laugh, and I was missing you, so I just sent it out to see what you would do.”

“I taped it to my kitchen cupboard door, and spent hours wondering what it meant,” Draco admitted, and Harry laughed again.

“At least you were thinking of me. It was…an olive branch, sort of. I’d hoped that you would write back.”

“Despite your unbelievably clear signal, I’m afraid I was at a loss as to what you wanted,” Draco said, and Harry laughed once more. Draco thought that nothing had ever made him happier than to hear Harry laughing like this, and then Harry stood on his tiptoes, and his lips pressed against Draco’s again. As he wound his fingers into Harry’s hair, Harry’s tongue questingly traced the line of his lips, Draco opened his mouth, and as the kiss deepened, Draco realized that he was wrong. That happiness was a virtually uncharted expanse lying ahead of him, with Harry at his side.

Finite.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...that's it for this one. I want to thank everyone who kudo'ed and commented. Your feedback is such a tremendous gift that truly, truly brings me incredible joy. I especially want to thank those who commented on my interpretation of Draco's life with Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. It's always a big risk to write about something so personal when you don't have the lived experience, and I couldn't be more grateful to those who helped.
> 
> Thanks as always, for reading, and I hope that everyone's staying safe in these weird times.  
> -Peach


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